Triple Identity dg-1

by Haggai Carmon

  “What did you do then?” I finally prompted her.

  “I had some money saved up and Dov had given me his share of our apartment. I was pregnant. What could I do? I stayed at home feeling sorry for myself until Ariel was born.”

  “Did you ever hear from him?”

  “He used to send me cards on my birthdays, sometimes with a few words about himself. I guess he wanted me to know how successful he had become. For years I suspected that his move to the U.S. was a part of a Mossad plan to plant him there. But I guess I was wrong. He really left the Office. Only when Ariel was three or four months old did I write him a letter telling him he was a father. I didn't hear from him for a month. Then he called me and said he had just returned from Japan, where he had a real estate business, and read my letter. I expected a shouting match for not telling him earlier. But he was nice. He asked for Ariel's picture. He started sending me money to help raise Ariel and about three months later he came to visit. Since then he has been a good father and kept in touch with his little girl. When Ariel was eleven years old she went to the United States to visit him and his new wife, and she returned thrilled. Not with the new wife, but with Disneyland. For her that was more important. Through Ariel I heard he had made it big in America. He sent newspaper clippings from time to time describing his growing empire, the bank he bought, and his successes. The clippings were sent to Ariel, but I knew he wanted me to see them.”

  “Why did Dov leave the Office, do you know?”

  “I only know what he told me, that the French government was satisfied with his work and wanted to promote him by sending him to their purchasing office in the United States. He'd always wanted to go to America but his controller at the Office said no. I don't know why. Maybe they wanted to keep him in France, close to the source of information. I know he had a big fight with his Israeli boss and then told them he was resigning.”

  “When did Dov change his name to DeLouise?”

  “He told me that in the United States he felt some anti-Semitism coming from his coworkers and decided he needed a new identity. So he chose a name that wouldn't sound Jewish but that would be foreign sounding, explaining his accent. He told people that he came from France. He spoke excellent French, so DeLouise sounded right, I guess.”

  “And now your name is Bernstein? Did you remarry?”

  Mina lowered her eyes and blushed. I almost smiled; it was such a girlish gesture for a grown woman.

  “Yes,” she replied, “Two years after my divorce I met a wonderful man who worked in the Israeli Navy as a radio operator. His name was Rafi Bernstein.”

  “Was?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said sadly, “he died two years after we married. I wanted Ariel to have a father in her life, but he died when Ariel was only four years old, before she could really remember him.”

  Mina then looked up at me. “Now you know it all. I still don't know how all this could be connected to Ariel's disappearance. Can you help me find her? I was afraid to go to the police because she insisted that I not talk to anyone about this. ‘It's a matter of life and death,’ she said. Now I understand how right she was.”

  I had a long laundry list of questions, but I held back.

  “I'll help you find Ariel,” I said.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, “I need your help. There's just no one else.”

  “So let's get started,” I said. “Do you know if Ariel had a bank account in Europe?”

  “No, she didn't. She made me a signatory in all her bank accounts. I would have known that. She only banks in Israel. Why are you asking?”

  “Because sometimes people just take off. If she had a bank account here, we could see if she withdrew money lately and see any unusual movements in her account. You said that her father sent her money?”

  “Yes, from time to time. He also bought her an apartment in Haifa and a car. He wanted Ariel to have a comfortable lifestyle. Anyway, Ariel never really cared too much about money.”

  I wanted to ask Mina to let me have access to Ariel's bank account in Israel. If DeLouise had wired her money also from his foreign bank accounts, it would be a beautiful lead. But I couldn't ask for it now. Not just yet.

  “Let's talk to the receptionist here. Maybe he knows something,” I said.

  “Did I miss any messages during my stay here?” Mina asked the man behind the desk.

  “No,” he said, “but someone asked about you.”

  “Who?” asked Mina.

  “I don't know,” he answered. “It was a man with a foreign accent and he did not leave any message.”

  Mina looked troubled.

  “He'll probably call again,” he added in a comforting voice, when he saw Mina's obvious confusion. “It's the same person who called for you twice just a few days ago.”

  Mina looked at him and snapped: “No one told me that people were looking for me. Why wasn't I told?”

  “There was no message to deliver,” he said apologetically, with a half-embarrassed smile. “I asked him if he wanted to leave a name or number, but he said that you'd soon know.”

  “Soon know what?” asked Mina confusedly, as we went back to the sitting room.

  “Did you get any mail here?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I knew I had to intervene. I asked Mina to wait for me in the lounge and returned to the reception desk. I didn't want her to know that I had checked out the phone calls DeLouise made and that, in view of Mina's account of her conversation with Ariel, it was obvious he had called the pension to speak with Ariel.

  “Mrs. Bernstein and I are trying to find Ariel Peled. Has she actually checked out?”

  “Excuse me,” said the man firmly, “could you tell me who you are?”

  “I'm a friend of the family,” I responded. “Ariel Peled is Mina Bernstein's daughter.”

  “I see,” said the man relenting. “That explains why my wife let Mrs. Bernstein move Ms. Peled's luggage to her room.”

  “Are you Mr. Bart?”

  He nodded.

  “So Ariel Peled never checked out?”

  “No, she just left. Sometimes people do that. Her room was paid for, so I guess we weren't concerned about the bill. Why are you asking? Is there a problem?”

  “Her mother is worried because she hasn't heard from her yet. Tell me, who made the reservations for Ariel's room?”

  “We don't keep formal records of these things, but let me look.”

  He leafed through his book and said, “Yes, just as I thought, the room was paid for in cash. I remember now; a man called and made the reservation. When I asked for a credit card to guarantee the room, he said that he'd send a messenger with cash. Sometime later somebody came with an envelope with cash. It was odd, because most people send in personal checks or charge the room to a credit card.”

  I was convinced DeLouise had made these arrangements to distance himself from Ariel. But why? He must have felt the heat. In the end, he'd been justified.

  “Do you keep a record of messages or phone calls? Mrs. Bernstein is very upset about missing these calls.”

  “No,” he said, and added in a defensive tone, “we are a small pension, only twelve rooms. We give our guests their messages and we don't record them.”

  Mina had left the sitting room and was coming to join me. When Mr. Bart saw her he said, “Mrs. Bernstein, this has just come in for you,” and handed her an envelope.

  Deftly, I grabbed the envelope out of his hand. There was a typewritten line in the center: “Mrs. Mina Bernstein, Pension Bart.” There was neither a stamp nor a return address.

  “How did it come in?” I asked Mr. Bart.

  “A boy on a bicycle gave it to me moments ago and said a man in a car stopped right outside the pension and gave him a tip to bring it in.”

  “Are you expecting any mail here?” I asked Mina.

  “No,” she said. “Nobody but Ariel knows where I am.”

  I bent the envelope to see if there was any object
inside other than paper. It bent just fine. I looked for signs of oil stains, which could indicate explosives. There were none. Mina followed me as I went outside the building to open it carefully. There was only one sheet of paper inside. I carefully pulled out a typewritten letter. We have Ariel. If you want her back alive, do not contact the police, or we return her in pieces. We want the papers

  DeLouise gave her.

  Call 900-5593 every evening at

  7:00 P.M. until we answer. This is your only chance. The goons can't help you.

  I handed the letter to Mina. She went pale and held it with a shaking hand. “She was kidnapped!” Mina said dazedly. “It's all because of Dov's dirty business. I'm sure of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It wasn't enough that his work ruined our marriage! Now it has to hurt our child too!”

  “What work?” I asked, hoping to hear something new she might have held back from me. “It couldn't be the Office – he left it more than thirty years ago. Was it his banking activity, or was there other work that affected Ariel that you haven't told me about yet?”

  “Look at the note and see for yourself. These people don't want ransom money. They want something Dov gave her. I have no idea what it might be.” She sounded desperate.

  “Come,” I said, “let's go inside.” We returned to the sitting room. Mina sat down, cradling her head in her hands. I looked at my watch. It was 6: 55 P.M.

  Puzzled about a line in the letter, I turned to Mina and asked, “Goons?”

  She was surprised I'd asked the question. “You know, the men from your Office. They came here three days ago after I realized that Ariel was missing and decided to call them and take advantage of her father's old job. Isn't that how you've come here to see me?”

  I felt my stomach turning. The Mossad was here? I almost asked but luckily didn't. Mina thought I was with them and I had failed to deny it. A real mess could be brewing.

  “There is no time,” I said, and almost pushed her to the telephone. “Call this number,” I demanded, giving her the number that appeared on the ransom note.

  She dialed. The phone rang ten times but nobody answered. “Try again,” I ordered. Obediently, she dialed again.

  Mina signaled me with her hand. I put my ear close to the receiver she was holding next to her ear; I heard a voice say, “Hello?”

  In broken German, Mina asked, “Excuse me, I was asked to call this number, can you tell me where it is?”

  The person on the other end, in a very youthful sounding voice, said, “It's a pay phone at the corner of Schillerstrasse and Bayerstrasse, right here in Munich. I just came to the phone to call my mom and you were on the other end. I didn't even start to dial.” He sounded timid.

  “Is there anyone else waiting near the phone?”

  “No,” he said. “This place is empty.”

  Mina hung up.

  “We need to get the police on it,” I said decisively.

  “Absolutely not!” she exclaimed. “They'll kill her.”

  “Do you know what papers they refer to?”

  “I have no idea,” she said in despair. “I haven't seen or spoken with Ariel since I came here. I have her luggage in my room, but there's only clothing in it. Maybe she received papers from her father?”

  This was also my assumption. Ariel probably received some papers from her father and put them in the safety deposit box at Mielke Bank. That's why she rented the box. That's what they were after. And the Mossad? They could either be after the same documents or simply be trying to help an ex-Mossad operative in distress. The people who kidnapped Ariel must be very desperate to get the papers. They could be the ones who killed DeLouise. But I didn't want to jump to conclusions. Clearly, a person who had multiple identities could also have multiple enemies.

  In the Mossad Academy we had received several lectures on hostage taking and negotiations. “Set your priorities,” the psychologist had told us. “You want to enter a vineyard and steal grapes, but the guard is in your way. You must decide what's more important: to wrestle with the guard and force yourself in, or sneak around the fence and eat the grapes.”

  If the people who kidnapped Ariel had murdered DeLouise, they must have feared something more than a loss of money. This was not simply a dispute over stolen money. The prize in this case could be the papers at Mielke Bank. If that was true, then by killing DeLouise they had revealed that they knew he no longer had the papers. The kidnappers believe that Ariel was now holding the papers or could be traded for them. So why had DeLouise been killed? Suspicion and speculation abounded, but no facts. I wanted to ask Mina about the Mossad operatives who came to see her, but I couldn't do it. That would have blown my false-flag tactic. I had to keep Mina away from them and get her to Mielke Bank.

  One thing puzzled me though. Who had called Mina at the pension? Why hadn't the caller been persistent enough to try again or, like me, come to see her? Why hadn't the Israeli Consulate told her about DeLouise's murder and asked her to identify the body? Inefficiency, perhaps. Or maybe Mina wasn't telling me everything. I'd have to find out.

  It was clear that the Mossad operatives had decided to keep the German police out of the loop. Otherwise there would have been swarms of German police at the pension. A weird theory crept into my mind: the strange disinterest of the Israeli Consulate could indicate that they knew where Ariel was and that they believed she wasn't at risk. However, it could also be a simple case of bureaucratic stupidity or apathy, or both. Or – the absurd thought crept in once more – maybe the Mossad was in cahoots with DeLouise after all. I brushed it off again.

  Some things were starting to fall into their logical places in my jigsaw puzzle, but new and far more complex questions kept coming up. I thought of Greek mythology, of Tantalus, king of Sipylos, son of Zeus. The gods punished Tantalus by putting him in an underworld lake where he couldn't reach the water when he wanted to drink, and, when he wanted to eat, the grapes above him disappeared. With each forward step I made, DeLouise's money seemed farther away than ever.

  It was clear to me that I had to keep the competition away. Somehow I felt that there was more than one client bidding for DeLouise's assets in this crowded marketplace.

  “Ariel should be safe,” I concluded to Mina, omitting the words “for now” that were on the tip of my tongue. “She has something that these people want – the papers her father gave her. They won't harm her until they have them. I still think you should call the police.”

  “No, they'll harm her. I don't trust the police here. I can't be certain that they'd put Ariel's interests first.” She looked determined.

  “In that case,” I said, accepting her decision against my better judgment, “we have to make contact with these people and understand what it is they want. We must insist on talking to Ariel.” What I didn't say was that we had to make sure she was still alive, despite my assurances to her that Ariel wouldn't be harmed while the kidnappers thought they needed her. “Maybe she could tell us exactly what papers these people want.”

  Mina looked at me appreciatively. “I see that you have a lot of experience in these matters.” She gently squeezed my arm, “I trust you.” This compliment was totally undeserved. In actuality, I was hoping that by acquiescing in Mina's determination not to involve the German police, I wasn't harming Ariel.

  “Go to sleep,” I said. “I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Have your passport ready.” To my surprise, without any resistance, Mina nodded and went upstairs. I was troubled by that. Mina had just found out that her ex-husband had been murdered and that her only daughter had been kidnapped. She refused to call the police, and then retreated obediently to her room. That was it? I knew I didn't have the whole picture.

  I started walking toward my car. Then I returned to the pension and walked around the block, approaching my car from the other direction. Just a little precaution. The street was empty. I drove back to my hotel. There were no messages and only second-rate movies on TV. I
laid down to think about the amazing labyrinth I had wandered into. Only two weeks had passed since David assigned this case to me, but it felt like eternity. I was completely focused on DeLouise, putting aside almost everything else. It was time to call my children in New York.

  “Tommy is with some friends playing video games,” said Karen, when she answered my call. “Dad, when are you coming back?” There was a ring of concern in her voice.

  “Soon, honey, I hope soon,” I said, not knowing whether I was telling the truth or speculating. “Is there a problem?”

  She paused, “Not exactly, but you've never left us for such a long period. We miss you.”

  A mixture of guilt and pride flooded me. “I miss you too, sweetheart. It won't be long, I promise.”

  I was angry at myself for being so preoccupied with DeLouise. I fell asleep vowing to wrap things up as soon as I could.

  The following morning I called Mina and picked her up at the pension. “Where are we going?” she asked, as I navigated through the narrow streets.

  “To a bank,” I said. “Ariel rented a safe-deposit box.”

  Mina's pleasant demeanor turned to suspicion. “How did you find out?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “A combination of legwork and good luck, I guess,” I said briefly. “Trust me,” I added, attempting a bit of comfort. I couldn't tell her more, certainly not until I found an explanation for her unexpected reaction last night. I looked in my mirror to see if we were being followed. Nothing unusual, though there are several ways to set up a tail without detection. Certainly, if the same person follows you then you can eventually recognize him or her. However, you can be tailed in a relay; each follower tracks you for just a short stretch, then you're “picked up” by the next.

  Then there's the ultimate trick: each follower stays where he is but keeps an eye on you as you pass. When you've gone a certain distance, he radios ahead that you're approaching. The next guy watches you pass, radios ahead, and so on. It takes a lot of people to pull off this leapfrogging act, but since no one actually follows, except by eye, it's highly unlikely that the subject will notice he's being watched.