Mirage

by James Follett

  Raquel felt an icy hand close around her heart. For the first time since the operation had started, she was scared. Later that night, curled up against Daniel’s reassuring warmth, she tried to sleep but she kept seeing Albert Heinken’s hungry, brooding dark eyes in the mirror behind the bar.

  6

  TEL AVIV October 1968

  The last thing that Jodi and Yuri Perak expected was to be debriefed on their report by their shadowy director. It was the first time they had ever met him: an encounter that lasted less than five minutes. ‘The bar owner’s name was definitely Daniel Kalen?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jodi. ‘His name was on the fire certificate behind the bar. It struck us as an odd coincidence.’

  Emil glanced down at their report. They were trained operatives. It was hardly necessary to go over their statements but he had to be one hundred per cent certain. He looked up from his desk and regarded them in turn. ‘The scene over the jukebox when this Kalen said that he was an Israeli. The way you describe it - this thing about Esther and Abi Ofarim - he could have been joking.’

  ‘The whole thing was a joke, sir,’ Yuri agreed. ‘But we don’t think he was joking when he said that he was an Israeli. There wasn’t much we could find out about him. But he must have wealthy connections to be living in Switzerland and to be running a legitimate business there. Perhaps it’s his parents who own the business and he’s running it for them to dodge military service. It won’t be hard to check up from here.’

  Emil nodded. ‘That’s what we’ll do. Okay, you both did very well considering your problems.’

  Once he was alone, Emil sat in silence, considering what to do next. He was loath to report the matter to Levi Eshkol - not because Daniel had made a fool of him, but because he disliked taking problems to the prime minister without being able to offer a solution. Also he suspected that Eshkol would see some humour in the outlandish situation. No ... an approach would have to be made to Daniel by someone Daniel knew and trusted. At first Emil toyed with the idea of going to Winterthur himself.

  And then he had a better idea.

  7

  RIO DE JANIERO November 1968

  Jose Raphael sensed that something was wrong the moment he opened the door of his apartment. The something turned out to be a Smith and Wesson .38 Airweight that Lucky Nathan was pointing straight at Jose’s head. The scream that rose in Marie’s throat was trapped behind Robbie’s paw clamping over her face. The big man yanked her into the room, spilling her shopping on to the floor. He kicked the door shut and muscled the struggling teenager on to the couch while Jose stared hypnotized at the revolver. Beyond the unwavering snub muzzle Lucky’s eyes were as bleak and hostile as an Arctic sky.

  A sophisticated man in Lucky’s position would have smiled softly at Jose and uttered a friendly greeting. Lucky had about as much sophistication as a petrol bomb. ‘Bastard!’ he spat. ‘Lying, fucking cheating bastard!’ His foot arced and targeted Jose’s groin. The Brazilian let out an agonized ‘Ooff!’ and writhed on the floor moaning. This time the beginnings of Marie’s scream broke loose. Robbie silenced her with a vicious chop across the temple that knocked her to the floor. He stooped to drag her up but she used her long bare legs and the freedom of her mini-skirt to flail wildly. Robbie hit her again - hard - and tossed her on to the couch. He yanked down her panties and used them to tourniquet her ankles together; her blouse was ripped away; the torn sleeves served as a gag and bindings for her wrists. Robbie was resourceful.

  Lucky hauled Jose to his feet. His blind rage was such that he would have kicked him again had not Robbie spun a chair into position and rammed Jose into it. Lucky stood over his terrified victim. Twenty floors below a police car wailed a path through the afternoon’s shower room humidity.

  ‘Dago scum! Know why I’ve come all this fucking way?’

  Jose’s terrified eyes went to his trussed daughter - half-naked and whimpering - and back to Lucky. He nodded and pleaded: ‘Mr Nathan - I promise you the money will be paid at the end of the month—’ The sentence ended with a scream that Robbie stifled from behind. Unable to kick Jose in the groin again, Lucky had settled for a shin.

  ‘Fucking miserable, stinking Dago liar! That’s what you promised last month! Ten of those airframes are crashed wrecks so where’s my fucking refund?’

  ‘It’s all been agreed with the minister,’ Jose blurted out. ‘The paperwork has gone through but it takes time to get the banker’s draft made out. Please, Mr Nathan - you must understand—’

  Robbie caught hold of Lucky’s wrist as he was about to hit Jose with the butt of the automatic. ‘Best not mark his face, Mr Nathan,’ he warned.

  Lucky nodded and relaxed. He stared down at Jose. The fury was gone. Now his eyes were dispassionate and calculating; a cobra deciding on the best way of despatching a terrified cornered rat. ‘I’ll tell you how long it takes to make out a banker’s draft, greaseball. Just as long as it’ll take Robbie to screw the arse off your daughter and put a bullet through her brains while you watch.’

  Jose closed his eyes and opened them again. Nothing had changed except Lucky was gesturing to the door with the .38. He stared, not comprehending.

  ‘You’re going to your ministry right now,’ said Lucky, icy as death. ‘And you’re coming back with the banker’s draft. Tip anyone off and you’ll have a day to mourn her,’ he jerked his head at the terrified girl. ‘That’s how long you’ll live before the Cortez brothers finish you off for me. Move.’

  ‘But it’s late. The paymaster’s office—’

  ‘That’s your fucking problem! Move!’

  Jose moved. And kept moving. In and out of government offices. Arguing. Pleading. Sometimes shouting. He returned to the apartment three hours later and handed an envelope to Lucky. He comforted his daughter while Lucky examined the draft. It was for two million dollars. A fortune by most standards. But Lucky had problems. Real problems. The Israelis dropping him in the shit on a deal and a bunch of merchant bank vultures just waiting to snatch his company away. All the draft could buy him was a few months.

  4

  WINTERTHUR

  There were occasions when the only way Raquel could break down Daniel’s stubbornness was by losing her temper. This was one of them. She swept the bagged coins into the night-safe pouch and slammed it down on the bar in front of him. ‘For Christ’s sake! I’ve no idea how to handle him! I’m going to have to play it by ear. But unless we make some sort of move then everything will drag on like this - with him coming in every evening and just ogling me. He’s too scared to do anything else with you around.’

  ‘So what the hell do you want him to do!’ Daniel yelled back.

  Raquel rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘God give me patience! I don’t know! I haven’t a fucking clue! All I do know is that one of us has got to do something. He doesn’t gawp at you so it looks like it’ll have to be me!’

  ‘I can’t let you do anything like that, Rac.’

  ‘Dear God - Jews and Catholics are all the same - they all have this crazy whore-madonna attitude towards women. There’s no in between - no such thing as a normal, rational woman whom they might just have to treat as an equal. Listen, Daniel, believe it or not, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself and Albert if anything goes wrong.’

  Daniel was crushed by her outburst. ‘I don’t want you getting hurt, Rac.’

  ‘I won’t get hurt. Albert isn’t a street hoodlum used to getting his own way with women. I’ll probably have to do all the leading.’

  ‘I sometimes wonder if it would be better if we called the whole idea off and just carried on as we are. It’s all getting so bloody sordid.’

  ‘It’s not getting sordid - it is sordid,’ Raquel retorted. ‘And it always has been - right from the beginning. What the hell did you expect, Daniel? That if we stayed long enough, doing nothing, someone would eventually come along and hand us the drawings just like that?’

  ‘We agreed to play it by ear.’


  ‘Fine. There’s no point in playing anything by ear if you don’t understand the music. Look, Daniel, as I’ve told you before, I didn’t throw in my lot with you just because I love you. I also love a bit of adventure and excitement. But I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have some sympathy with Israel. Despite their bloody-minded arrogance, at least they’re a democratic country whose own borders are under constant threat.’ She toed off her sneakers and rested her feet on the table. ‘The trouble is we never really thought all this through. We decided to let events take their course to get things moving. Now they’re moving, it’s up to us to grab some sort of control.’

  ‘Which means letting that oily creep grab you.’

  ‘Albert is not an oily creep. I’ve met them - I know.’

  Daniel was silent.

  ‘Okay,’ said Raquel. ‘We call the whole thing off. We carry on here, working our asses off running a goofy business that’s just about breaking even with zero growth potential. Another year and we’ll be physical wrecks - bored with work and each other. Then what?’

  Neither spoke while Daniel wrestled with his dilemma. ‘I don’t want that,’ he said at length. ‘I’ve got to do something for my country. All this ...’ he waved his hand around the bar, ‘the planning ... I think it’s kept me sane.’

  ‘And now you’re chicken? I’m the one that has to have the courage of your convictions?’

  Surprisingly Daniel didn’t take offence at the barbed remark. ‘I don’t have the courage to expose you to danger, Rac,’ he admitted.

  His disarming candour forced a smile from Raquel. ‘Danger from Albert? Hardly.’

  ‘We don’t really know him.’

  ‘He’s a frustrated little guy whose wife always has the light off.’ ‘Not so little.’

  ‘I can handle Albert. He’s nothing to some I had to put up with back home. You wouldn’t believe the excruciating injuries I can inflict on men that get out of hand.’

  Daniel gave a sudden smile. ‘Now you’ve got me worrying about what might happen to Albert.... Okay -I give in. How long do you want me out of the way for?’

  ‘A week.’

  ‘A week! You’ll never manage on your own.’

  ‘Ingrid’s sister would like to help out lunchtimes as well. The two of them can do the serving while I deal with the food.’ Raquel squeezed Daniel’s hand. ‘So you find yourself a cheapish hotel in Zurich and let’s see what happens with Amorous Albert.’

  Albert’s dependence on routine to alleviate the problem of daily decision-making was such that even his two-week-old habit of visiting Cinderella’s each evening when he finished work had forced upon him the need always to perch on the same stool at the bar. He greeted Raquel by her first name - as he had just learned to do - and ordered a rum and black coffee - as he always did. Raquel placed the drinks before him. He looked around in surprise. There was the usual early evening gathering of about half a dozen customers.

  ‘Where’s Daniel this evening?’ The first sting of rum at the back of his throat took his mind off her smile - as it always did. But for only a few moments.

  ‘He’s had to go away on business for a few days.’

  ‘Leaving you to ...’ He groped for the right English word.

  ‘Cope alone? Manage alone?’ Raquel prompted, smiling.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, you know Daniel in the evenings - more time spent chatting to customers than working. I guess I’ll make out okay.’

  ‘But the clearing up after you close,’ said Albert, not taking his eyes off her.

  Raquel laughed. ‘It’ll mean getting to bed an hour later than usual. It’s only for a week.’

  For the rest of the evening Albert was embroiled in conversation with the other regulars while Raquel was busy serving. It was not until shortly before closing time, when the place was emptying, that he had a chance to speak to her again.

  ‘You must let me stay behind to help with the clearing up,’ he offered.

  Raquel’s smile turned his stomach to mush. As it always did.

  ‘Thank you, Albert. You’re very sweet, but I can’t have customers helping out.’

  ‘But I would like to very much,’ Albert protested. ‘Please, Raquel it would make me very happy.’

  ‘What about your wife?’

  ‘Oh - I don’t think she would want to help.’

  They both looked at each other and laughed.

  Raquel pretended to give in. ‘Okay, Albert. Thanks very much. I’d certainly be glad of help with the crates.’

  Albert was usually the last to leave, therefore there was nothing unusual about him remaining on his stool when the regulars trooped out at midnight. He felt a surge of privilege when Raquel bolted the front door. After that he worked hard for an hour carrying empty crates into the backyard and returning with full ones for the next day’s business. Raquel brewed fresh coffee when they had finished work. They sat in one of the booths drinking and chatting. Albert talked with a garrulous eloquence born of nervousness. He hardly knew what he was saying, so overwhelmed was he at finally being alone with this beautiful woman who was his fantasies made flesh. It was after 2.00am when Raquel shook his hand and thanked him yet again for his help.

  Albert drove home in a daze - trying not to think about Hannah’s reproachful expression he would be facing the following morning across the breakfast table. Hannah was a hardening knot of guilt in his guts that he could rationalize away by telling himself, and her if she became awkward, that any man who worked his hours was entitled to some relaxation.

  He helped Raquel clear up after closing time the following night. Over coffee they talked about their respective childhoods. Albert outlined his career with Luftech and even touched on his bitterness over the way he had been passed over for promotion. She followed her goodbye with a swift, self-conscious kiss on the cheek. On the third night, on an impulse that astonished himself, he put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. It was the sudden stirring of an unexpected and unwelcome erection that made him lose his nerve. He muttered a confused farewell and stumbled into the night.

  Raquel heard his starter motor as she bolted the door. She had felt the erection. The experience reminded her of the time when, as a twelve-year-old, she had first discovered the strange sexual power that females could exert over males. Strange to think that a man in his forties could be as frightened of sexual contact as her very first date had been.

  The pattern was repeated the following evening. The only difference was that Albert drank more rum than usual and he wasn’t so talkative as he carried crates. He loosened up a little during their coffee and chat. Afterwards Raquel was about to unbolt the front door for Albert when she suddenly seized the initiative by kissing him on the lips - not out of any thought of seducing him, but simply because he had been particularly helpful; she had spent an enjoyable hour chatting with him, and therefore felt warm towards him. His reaction took her by surprise. Instead of tensing as she had expected, he pulled her to him and returned her kiss with a relentless, animal savagery. Her response to the kiss - pulling him even tighter - proved a big mistake. Suddenly Albert’s hands were thrusting under her T-shirt, not groping for her breasts but clawing at her back and shoulders. It was his first direct contact with her skin and the touch seemed to renew his frenzy. She tried pushing him away but Albert was a big man in excellent physical shape. He kept muttering the same thing over and over again in German. She staggered back against the wall, the light switches jabbing sharply into her shoulders. The bar filled with light. An irrational corner of her mind wondered what anyone would think if they chanced to look through the windows.

  ‘Please, Albert,’ she whispered, trying to twist her head away from his reckless smother of uncontrolled kisses. ‘Not here.’

  His feverish hands found her breasts. She braced herself for the pain, certain that he would pinch and squeeze. Curiously, touching her in such an intimate manner had a calming effect. His fingers were clumsy yet gentle.
They inexpertly teased furtively at her nipples while his mouth made a track of wetness down her neck.

  ‘Please, Raquel,’ he begged. ‘Please ... here and now. Please ... please ... please ... .’

  He didn’t wait for a reply. His fingers abandoned her breasts and tugged ineffectually at the top hook on her jeans. Raquel forced his weight away so that a sweep of her hand turned off the main lights leaving only the bar lights dimly illuminating the bizarre scene. Albert interpreted the gesture as an invitation. He broke the hook on her jeans and tried to force them over her hips. Raquel struggled to hitch them up again but Albert pulled her hands away. ‘Please, Raquel,’ he implored again, almost weeping with frustration. ‘I want you so much ... so much .... You must understand. I love you so much ... so much .... Since I first saw you ... .’

  Oh well - in for a pound, thought Raquel. She was still confident of her ability to handle the situation, and would’ve giggled to herself were it not for the sharp pain as the zip on her jeans dragged down the inside of her thighs. Her panties slid down with her jeans to keep them company. A little panic set in: sharp, but delayed like the pain of a paper cut. Oh Christ - try to get them up, Rac.

  She was too late: Albert forced his foot between her knees and stamped the jeans to her ankles.

  ‘I want you!’ he hissed. ‘I must have you!’

  Raquel realized just how much she had misjudged Albert. Although she knew that the seduction of Albert was an inevitable consequence of the whole ill-conceived scheme, the forlorn romantic nugget in her nature had hoped that the sordid business could be carried out with a degree of conventional decorum: maybe not a candlelit meal - not the hours she had to work - but soft words of endearment; a bed even. Instead polite, self-effacing Mr Nice Guy Albert Heinken was about to rape her.