by Yitzhak Nir
“That Chinese beauty queen of yours is making real problems for us…”
“Watch it, Dahlia! We’ll talk about it when I get back. Send it to Shauli via Red-Bird and I’ll go over it on the way back.” He cut the conversation short, missing her anxious “Good luck!” and her worried “Regards to Sima”.
…That Chinese beauty queen of yours… What could have happened with her? Well, it can wait. On the way back I’ll have time to read all the fake news…
At six twenty-three they arrived at the government building.
“Mister Shalit, good morning. Let’s go into the conference room. You’re already familiar with this place. The prime minister will be with you in a moment,” Sima shot out at him when she suddenly appeared before him in the hallway leading to the chamber.
He sat at the conference table with his back to the Judean Desert.
“Good morning, Mister Shalit!” The prime minister entered the room hurriedly and sat down opposite him, leaving the high leather chair at the head of the table to remain empty, guarding them like a sentry.
“To you as well, ma’am,” he answered inquisitively, attempting to pinpoint the source of the danger he already felt pervading the atmosphere.
“Gershon, we don’t have much time. You must already be aware why I’ve called you here so early in the morning.”
“Negative, ma’am, but I have made a few assumptions,” he promptly answered, reviewing in his mind the sporadic conversation with Dahlia.
Tamar Rajuan-Berger pushed in his direction a pile of morning papers resting on the conference table covered with the huge aerial photograph of the Middle East.
“Scan the headlines, Gershon,” she said, fixing her brown eyes steadily on him. She was carefully dressed in a brown trouser suit, reading glasses perched on her nose, short gray hair clinging to her temples and wearing her famous, slightly faded red lipstick. She looked tired.
He quickly thumbed through the papers and spread them out like three big playing cards, covering the map of Israel from a satellite’s-eye-view:
“Mossad director suspected of selling Israel’s interests to foreign diplomats!” shouted Israel Today.
“Chinese diplomats suspected of attempting to bribe Mossad director!” screamed Ma’ariv.
“Beautiful Chinese spy catches head of Mossad in her net!” shrieked Yediot Achronot.
Under the headlines were ludicrous commentaries by those in the know. In a nighttime photo the three of them could be seen sitting on the balcony at Argaman Towers.
…Somebody’s shot me down!..
“Well, Gershon, the morning papers are merely quoting the Chinese CCTV station and CNN from Hong Kong. They are broadcasting to the whole world a video film in a continuous loop with extensive commentaries, in which you feature together with this Chinese beauty.” She gave him a hard look above her glasses. “So before the Shin Bet takes you in for initial questioning, I want to inform you that at 08:30 this morning I appointed Ze’ev Carmon, Ze’evik, your second-in-command, as temporary head of the Mossad, until this matter is cleared up. From this moment on you are suspended.”
He quickly thought that there was no point in starting to explain now. Whatever I say now won’t be of any use anyway… The scar began to redden and throb together with his heartbeats and sweat stains were spreading in his armpits, despite the powerful air conditioning.
“What do you expect me to do now, Madam Prime Minister?” he asked quickly regaining his self-control.
“If you have a good lawyer, Gershon, now’s the time to call him. You can phone from Sima’s office. Your lines have been jammed and your computer and Dahlia’s have been blocked. The Shin Bet has already arrived at your home ahead of you. An enhanced listening device has been installed on your secure private line.”
She continued regarding him with her brown, tired eyes, raising a glass of water to her lips, leaving behind her famous lipstick imprint and drinking deeply.
“Am I under arrest, ma’am? Is somebody waiting to place me in handcuffs or what?”
“No. We are civilized people, Gershon. Go home. Due to the delicate circumstances, your bodyguards will remain with you for another month at least. The security services will make contact when you arrive. I have already spoken with the head of the Shin Bet. As far as I understand, your pass to enter Mossad headquarters is invalid and your passport is canceled until the end of the investigation. Dahlia is now relinquishing her position to Ze’evik’s secretary, Carmela. Is her name, Carmela?”
“No. Malkah.”
“Okay, so be it, Malkah. You should be aware that an investigation at Shin Bet headquarters awaits you, with a polygraph and the rest of the gadgets they have: what you said, what you revealed, whom you met and what damage you’ve caused. You know the procedure better than I do… And don’t sit down now and write your memoirs, for my sake. Maybe you will have plenty of free time for physical exercise and for some deep reflection… Don’t do what I wouldn’t do if I were in your place, Gershon.” Her smile disclosed malice that he hadn’t observed in her until that moment.
“Everything is crystal clear, Madam Prime Minister,” he replied formally, barely restraining himself from getting up, clicking his heels and saluting.
“Gershon, I would like to thank you on my own behalf and that of the Israeli nation for your long, personally risky, highly successful service. As a friend, I’m sorry that it has to end this way and I’m confident that you will be able to explain your actions. I still hope that you are one of us.” Then she opened a drawer in the table. “Now with your permission, I will smoke a cigarette. Please open a window and make sure Sima’s door is closed.”
“Tamar, I also wouldn’t refuse a small Kent Slim from your private stash…” he chuckled, as though she had revealed her best-kept secret to him.
“You? You already told us you had stopped smoking back then, at the “Bahad 12” women’s army training center!”
“You declared the same thing, ma’am. I hope you remember that.”
“How could I forget, but I was already hooked and so were you,” she said with her back to him, staring out the window and lighting two cigarettes. Afterwards she flicked ash into the water glass that she had turned into an ashtray, handed him the extra cigarette and added, “Sima has prepared a letter stating that you are resigning for health reasons. You will sign it and I will accept your resignation as going into effect immediately. My office will deal with the newspapers and the other media. From this moment on, you are forbidden from being interviewed.”
He took a deep drag on the cigarette, enjoying its smell and taste, and exhaled a thick, blue cloud of smoke into the room.
“I can see, Tamar, that you’ve learned a thing or two since your days in “Bahad 12”,” he chuckled, sensing that all the cards had been removed from his hands. But he was already involved in playing another life-or-death game.
“Well, Gershon, those were the days. You were a real hunk until that accident grounded you. What was that kibbutz girl’s name, Chana? She looked at him as though thirty-nine years had not passed.
“Nehama.”
“Ah, that’s right. You know that I like you, Gershon. That’s why I agreed to inherit you from my predecessor, despite the vast differences in our attitudes towards what’s been going on here for the last fifteen years. I’ve even been satisfied with your behavior recently in the matter of the missiles in Al-Dumayr and your success with the Clear Skies mission. But a scandal such as this – pardon me, not on my watch! Sorry, Mossad Director!” she added insultingly. What’s this all about? Allowing a seducing Chinese bimbo to drag you into a shady deal with a Chinese big shot? And that’s without mentioned breaking our contact with a foreign agent law.”
“Tamar, watch your mouth! You’re not allowed to say whatever you like, even if you are prime minister!” he replied furiously.
An oppressive silence reigned between them. And suddenly, “I’m prime minister of the Jews. This cannot be allowed to happen in my house!” she shouted at him in a loud, angry voice.
His blood also began to boil.
“Madam, you are prime minister of both the Jews and the Arabs, not of the Jews only and definitely not of all the Jews!” She looked at him in surprise.
“Haven’t we learned our history, madam?”
“You have no right to lecture me about Zionism, Gershon! We’re running a country, and you’ve betrayed your responsibilities. Apart from that, tell me: who is guarding the guards? How did they get onto you in such a stupid way? The geniuses that surround you - and you yourself who were a fighter pilot - didn’t it occur to you to occasionally raise your blue eyes skywards, despite the fact that your heads are always in the clouds?”
“You have no idea who those Chinese were and what they wanted,” he answered drily.
Go to blazes and let me out of here already… he raged in his heart.
“We’ll clarify that, don’t you worry.” She filled her lungs with nicotine, exhaled a bluish cloud at the ceiling and added, “What an embarrassment…”
But he had already cut himself off from what was going on around him. His attention was now directed towards the healing program he had chosen and carrying out the ideas proposed by Joe Yang and the Chinese authorities.
“Madam,” he said, resuming his familiar commander’s voice, “so if everything is clear to you, thanks for all of your left-handed compliments. I will deal with the resignation letter by myself.” He fixed her with a cold blue stare, and with his red scar pulsing, fired at her, “I’ve got nothing to hide. I acted within my authority and the power of my responsibilities - for the good of the country.” Then he raised his voice to a shout, “I am not a traitor!”
The prime minister just regarded him in silence.
“So have a good day, Madam Prime Minister!” he spat out. He inhaled another whiff of smoke and threw the cigarette into her glass of water on his way to the door. Its hiss of protest as it fizzled out thundered in the compressed silence that rose up between them.
“Gershon!” she stopped him, “Your beauty and the tall Chinese man, her father or whoever that big shot is, are as of yesterday personae non grata in Israel until the end of their lives. We will also demand that the Chinese Chief Security Officer and his little helper be tried and expelled from Israel. I’m sorry.” Her face suddenly looked old, tired and heavily lined.
“How could it be otherwise?” He distorted his face in contempt. “You don’t even know who or what you’re feeling sorry for! And thanks for the coffee I wasn’t served.”
“Sorry, Gershon. Next time…”
“There won’t be a next time Mrs. Rajuan-Berger. And I’ll show you and the rest of you!” he fired at her and left the smoky conference room, leaving the door open behind him.
Shauli drove home quickly along the empty highway. A heavy silence reigned inside the vehicle.
It was broken by Dahlia’s call.
“Yes, Dahlia?”
“Chief, how did it go? How are you?”
“I’m great, on my way home.”
“Okay, I’ll come over there. I’ve also been replaced.”
“Fine. See you soon, Dahlia.”
“Wait a minute, Chief! Dr. Zimmerman phoned. He wanted to send you a letter. I told him that the mailing address had changed and that he should hold on.”
“Did he tell you what it was about?”
“Negative. He said something about an apology. He mistakenly mixed up file with that of somebody else, another Gideon Shalit…”
“Really!?” His red scar began to pulse.
“That’s what he said. The letter and all the documents are on their way to the office. I’ll request the file from Ugly Malka, the secretary of Evil Ze’evik, the bastards…”
“Excellent, Dahlia, All’s well. See you at home.”
“Over and out! Cheer up, Chief!” And she hung up.
“What a son of a bitch that Zimmerman is! I almost put a bullet in my head…” he angrily muttered aloud.
“Chief?!” Shauli turned towards him.
“I was talking to myself, Shauli. At my age it’s allowed.”
“Chief, you’re younger than a lot of the guys. Don’t worry. And apart from that, lots of young people, and older ones, too, have great respect for you. Don’t pay attention to those trouble-makers. We need you!”
“Thanks, Shauli.” …And I’ll still be needing people like you… he noted to himself.
A new Red-Bird message buzzed into existence on his private cellphone. He pulled out the device and read what was written:
“Hi, Gersh! It’s Adam. I’ve arrived. Call me. It’s eight a.m. here. C U.”
Two photos were attached to the message: In the first Adam could be seen in a white sailor’s vest, his ponytail resting on his chest, behind him a two-story house with a gray roof and a large sycamore tree growing on the front lawn. The house and the lawn were enclosed by red and white tape. In the second photo could be seen a contractor’s sign announcing that a retirement home would be built on that site.
Gershon studied the photographs. The house was familiar: it had formerly belonged to Professor Joe Yang…
He pushed the return call arrow and immediately heard Adam’s voice, which was surprisingly clear considering that he was 5600 miles away.
“Hi, Gersh! What’s happening?”
“Things are wearing me out. And there’s also a raging Hamsin over here.”
“Yeah, I read about it in the newspaper and saw it on television. What a big deal they’ve making out of you!”
“Leave it alone, Adam. I have nothing to hide. Where are you?”
“Where you asked me to be. The house exists and also the names on the mailbox and on the door. It looks like the houses here are about to be demolished and they’re building a retirement home in their place, if I understood the English placard correctly.”
“Thanks, Adam. That’s very interesting.”
“You’ve gotten off lightly, haven’t you, Gersh?”
“It depends how you look at it, and it’s not over yet. But I’ve found the right direction, Adam!”
“Listen, Gersh, I know you. They might be able to kill love, but not your ideas about a better future.”
“Maybe… And you haven’t heard anything yet. Anyhow, now’s the time that I really need friends like you.”
“But maybe you’re wrong, Gersh?”
“Maybe. But a billion and a half Chinese can’t be wrong. Listen closely, Adam. The heat will break tomorrow.”
“Walla! And are you going to kill yourself over it?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. You’ll fill me in when I get home. Just don’t forget, Gersh, you are one of the few, the very few!” he laughed and ended the call.
The back pains, his old friends, had left him. A profound peace settled on him and an involuntary smile rose on his lips. On the horizon he discerned Adam Ben-Ami mounted on his white swan rising up towards the sun.
Again he was that fifteen-year-old boy taking off in an old Piper plane in midsummer. A sense of power and freedom grew stronger in him the further he went, the higher he climbed, fearlessly, from earth...
Epilogue
August 28th, 2056
Dust curtains from distant deserts descended on the country.
Through the hot, smoggy haze, the sun resembled a blinding steel tray in the grayish sky. The black Hovercraft taxi took off from the sophisticated, brand new airport on the Benjamin Nitai artificial island, some twelve miles west of Tel Aviv. From there it turned northbound and cruised noiselessly at an altitude of two hundred feet to the Jezreel Valley that was wrapped in the dusty end-of-summer heat.
The h
overcraft had eight electric-fan engines hidden in its smooth body that was painted shiny black and was shaped like an oval cigar. From its deck emerged an elliptical passenger compartment, on which was painted a red waving flag, with seven shiny golden David Shield stars.
After about ten minutes the craft landed softly, raising clouds of dust, on the slopes of Giv’at Hamoreh Mountain, near the gate of Kibbutz Giv’on’s cemetery.
The old dirt road was lined by a dusty cypress-trees avenue. It was reminiscent of the dry brown fields of the valley that had witnessed a thousand years of human and natural irrigation and had now disappeared as though they never existed. Now in their place were commercial buildings and residential towers, asphalt roads and thousands of the latest drive-n-fly high-tech electric cars.
The crumbling, low, ancient red-brick wall of the cemetery surrounded the untended dusty old graves, seeming apologetic for failing to protect them from the city that was closing in inexorably from all directions.
From the hovercraft a couple emerged entirely dressed in black:
He was wearing a black peaked cap and she a wide-brimmed wine-colored hat. They began slowly ascending the burning hot dirt path, through the broken-down gate, towards him.
The grave was built like its silent companions: plaster-coated concrete, whose gray color had been turned a pitiful brownish-yellow by the dry, dead thorns covering it. In it was a square opening from which a dusty cypress was miraculously growing.
The slim woman, whose beauty was still evident despite her seventy-six years, supported the man. She steadied him with one hand, while in the other she held a bouquet of white calla lilies tied with a purple silk ribbon. She slowly placed the flowers on the plaster surface, and rose again to her companion.