They had always followed procedures, and now this urgent call out of the blue. It had happened just once before, in 1996. He was instructed back then to follow the security procedures in place for Tel Aviv, and a windowless van showed up to collect him. Brian was waiting for him in the van, which pulled up for just a few seconds and then took off again right away. He shook his hand warmly, taking care not to stand up to greet him because of the violent rocking of the vehicle, which was switching from one lane to the next and making sudden sharp turns at very high speed. It was a meeting of the utmost importance and urgency insofar as they were concerned, due to tension along the northern border and concern regarding the possible outbreak of war. They needed to know what the prime minister really had in mind, what was being said during the cabinet discussions, where the red lines were being drawn, whether Israel would make do with a massive aerial bombardment or whether it would put its bigger plan into action. Alon had already told them about the plan—to move eight divisions into Syria, to lay siege to Damascus, and to move into Lebanon at the same time, along its eastern sector, with the purpose of getting through to the Beirut–Damascus highway, and from there to maneuver eastward, to complete the strategic encirclement and bring the Syrians to their knees.
The instruction this time had been a different one: Get to Zurich as soon as possible. It had come to him in the form of an encoded message on a website disguised as an international real-estate site offering opportunities to purchase land at attractive prices. He smiled wryly despite the sharp pain in his lower stomach. His communication with his handlers used to be a lot more primitive. It had started out in the form of letters written in invisible ink that became legible only after undergoing a special chemical process. The invisible marker was replaced over the years by special printer ink. He refused back then to allow his handlers to relay messages via shortwave radio transmissions. “I’m not going to close myself off in a room,” he said to them, there’s no way I’m going to lock the door and write down groups of letters to be deciphered thereafter like some kind of spy in World War II. That’s not for me, it’s dangerous and unnecessary, he said to Brian, who put up some resistance to begin with but eventually saw it his way. They came to an arrangement whereby he’d receive his missions once or twice a year during face-to-face meetings. Moreover, he liked those meetings and had no intention of making do with random letters as a rather pathetic and humiliating substitute for personal encounters.
They could now communicate online with complete confidence. That’s what they told him, at least. But if they wanted to relay a message to him, they could also always revert to the age-old method of the chalk markings, which they still maintained as a backup. Each city had a unique sign. The code that alerted him this time was a simple one—a star drawn in red chalk, surrounded by a white circle, on the wooden fence of an apartment building on one of the small side streets leading off Ibn Gvirol. He made a point of passing by the fence almost daily, usually driving slowly in his car, and sometimes on foot. His handlers were sticklers when it came to routine and planning. No phone calls, no conspicuous e-mails. He had received just two calls from them over the past twenty years, both allegedly wrong numbers, and both intended to let him know that they’d left a sign for him down that small side street that he needed to go and see right away. One call every ten years. Alon couldn’t help but marvel at the restraint and professionalism of his handlers. He loved them for that, too. For their serious attitude, for their sense of responsibility toward him. For their levelheadedness and self-confidence. And now this alert. Both online and in the form of the marking on the fence. Alon couldn’t ignore the fact that this was the first time he had been summoned abroad, the first time in thirty years. His stomach had tightened, but his heart warmed and widened now as he spotted Brian from afar.
They embraced. Warmly. Genuinely happy.
“I’m sorry you had to wait for me,” Alon said. “I needed some time to get organized. I couldn’t just drop everything and leave the country right away. I had to wait until Thursday evening, and fly out only then to Vienna. I flew Austrian Airlines to Schwechat and went on from there with a Swiss ticket that I purchased at the airport. According to the drill. Like always. And here I am.”
Brian and his men had waited for three days for Cobra to arrive. For three days the security teams took up positions in the hope of seeing him emerge from the northern gate of the Hauptbahnhof, the central train station. And only on day four, at the fixed time, at precisely two minutes past three, did they spot him. A slim figure, wrapped in a long coat, a casquette on his head, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, emerging from the gate and turning right in the direction of the taxi rank. He walked slowly and joined the line, knowing they had eyes on him and were in position around him.
“No problem,” Brian responded, “we always operate as agreed. We have patience and we have time. You have to do whatever suits you best. Don’t forget, your safety comes first. Let’s go to the bar, we’ll have a drink, warm up a little.”
Cobra and Brian were sitting on two antique leather armchairs in the dark corner of the bar, on the table in front of them polished crystal glasses filled with an amber gold liquid. Aged Calvados brandy, infused with the scent of apples, steeped in the rich flavors of Normandy, encapsulating, as Alon always imagined it, the commotion of the invading soldiers, the thunder of the landing craft crashing against the raging foam of the sea, the barrage of artillery shells, the assault charge, wave after wave of brave fighters, onto the beach. For some reason he thought all of a sudden about Martin, his first handler, the first one he met after walking into the U.S. embassy in Rome back then, so many years ago. He couldn’t recall the name of the embassy’s CIA officer, the one who had amusingly and clumsily insisted on introducing himself as a consular employee. He could only remember him appearing old and tired and even a little shoddy. But he could never forget Martin. Martin was the one who taught him to love Calvados. He taught him so much, and made him into the man he was today. Alon didn’t love many people in his life. His mother, perhaps, but for her it was mostly concern, and the concern far outweighed the love. Yes, he loved Naomi and Nimrod, his children, but that was the love of a parent. Based primarily, from his point of view, on a profound sense of duty and responsibility. But Martin he truly loved. From the bottom of his heart. The love of a young man for an older one, a strong man, full of charm. Not an erotic love—although the question of where one draws that line between loves had crossed Alon’s mind more than just once—but a love that meant a desire to be with, that sparked yearning and pining. Martin, Martin. And then came Brian. He’d known him for twenty-five years already. Maybe more. They’d been together for a lifetime. Oh, how time flies.
They sipped their drinks, and then another one each. Brian had yet to explain the nature of the pressing urgency. Why they had summoned him in such a hurry. But he knew it was coming. Precise timing was of the essence insofar as Brian was concerned. Alon had learned that a long time ago. “Let’s go outside for a while,” Brian suggested. “We’ll take a walk by the lake. A bit of clean, cold air won’t do us any harm.”
• • •
“So here’s the story,” Brian said. The dark water of the lake lapped at the shore. Alon was walking to his right, wondering who of all the people he could see around them was a member of the security team.
“I’m afraid that moment has come,” Brian said. “That moment at which the relationship between us is facing a very real risk of being exposed.” He looked at Cobra to see his reaction. He had taken him outdoors intentionally, so that if he was going to react in an unexpected or unrestrained manner, then at least he would do so in an open area with few onlookers rather than in the hotel. He needed the space around him. The space and the ability to respond accordingly. But Cobra as usual was cold, and his narrow eyes looked straight ahead, and not at him.
“There’s been a leak. Something out of our control. Something that appears to be tied to the distant pa
st. And it’s risen to the surface all of a sudden. We believe, we know in fact, that Israeli security officials are on the hunt these days for an agent high up in the government establishment. They’re in possession of solid information that is causing them to look, to leave no stone unturned. And if they persist, they’re likely to get their hands on you. But we can preempt that. We want you to come to us. Now. You’ll be safe with us.”
Alon felt his balls tighten and shrink. The tremor that shook his body traveled from his scalp down to his anus. He hoped it was merely an inner sensation, and that Brian hadn’t noticed.
Brian had.
A bitter taste filled Alon’s mouth, and he sensed a foul odor on his breath. He asked Brian if he had a mint.
“Let’s sit down for a while,” Brian suggested, and he led the way to a bench overlooking the lake, which appeared to be darkening, as if black ink had been poured into its waters. Their security detail, a young man and woman who were following them, stopped and took up a lookout position some distance away. The young man retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket, lit one, inhaled deeply and with obvious pleasure, and said: “It’s going to be a long night.” The woman tightened the scarf around her neck. A cold mist was coming off the lake.
Appearing to have guessed his need ahead of time, Brian took out a box of strong mints and handed it to Cobra. “Look, Alon,” he said in a soft yet distinctly resolute tone, “now’s the time for some quick decision-making. The danger is real. But there’s no need for hysteria or panic. You know how important you are to us, and we’d do everything to keep you in place. The information you’ve been feeding us is of enormous value, and you know that we’ve expressed our deep appreciation for your contribution through deeds and not just words. You’ve helped us, and in doing so you’ve added to the stability of the region as a whole. We admire your courage and perseverance. But you, Alon, you are more important to us than anything else. We don’t want your cover to be blown, with all its implications. And you know what I’m talking about. So here’s what I’m saying to you: Come with us now. Don’t return to Israel. We’ll take care of everything that needs to be done. You’ll be joined within a few months by your wife and children, or at least your son who still lives at home. You’ll have a good life in Moscow. Among friends. Completely secure. We can keep you safe there.”
Alon wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Moscow?” he asked suddenly, his voice cracking.
Brian decided not to go easy on him. Convey the message as clearly and unequivocally as possible, and Cobra wouldn’t be able to deny or suppress it. “Yes, Moscow. Or St. Petersburg. Wherever you like. And you’ll also get a summer house, a dacha. On the shores of the Black Sea. With weather just like at home, right?”
Alon was confused. What was this about Moscow all of a sudden? Or St. Petersburg? A dacha? He felt strange, as if he had detached from his body and was now observing himself from above, his shadow lengthening. He caught a glimpse of himself behind his eyelids, which he had closed for a moment—a young and headstrong man, ringing the bell of the U.S. embassy in Rome. How had he gone from there to Russia? He stared at his handler, his eyes dark and cold. “What are you telling me, Brian? What are you saying?”
Brian began telling Cobra the cover story he had prepared for this very moment. “Look, Alon,” he said. “It’s long and complex, and we’re still going to talk about it a whole lot more, and in depth. But I’ll fill you in on the main points right now. At some point in the past, the superpowers—the Soviet Union, Russia today, and the United States—came to an understanding that may appear surprising on the backdrop of the Cold War. But that makes absolute sense when you think about it. The supreme interest of both countries, from the 1980s onward, at least, has been stability. Stability with no decisive outcome. The price of instability is simply too high. Unbearable even. And the developments we have witnessed over the past twenty to thirty years have only reinforced this principle. Stability and a balance of power. To avoid any deterioration in the situation, any loss of control that would lead to a disaster. Yes, there were those who, for a brief and inconsequential moment in time, announced to the world that the conflict had been decided, and that there was only one superpower left in this world. There were idiots who spoke of the end of an era. Ignorant intellectuals, foolish and irresponsible. It remained clear all the while, or it should have remained so, at least, that what we really needed was a fine and well-monitored balance between Washington and Moscow. The conflict that emerged after the Great Patriotic War couldn’t be allowed to end in a decisive victory. That would spell certain disaster for both sides. High-ranking and responsible officials from both countries have worked in earnest to ensure the preservation of this balance. On all levels.”
“What does all this have to do with me?” Alon asked.
“You showed up at the American embassy in Rome some thirty years ago. You offered to do all you could for the good of this stability, and if possible—for the sake of peace in the Middle East. You said you’d go far, that you’d rise to positions of influence, and you’ve kept your promise admirably. You’ve become a significant player. With the courage of a soldier in civilian dress, you’ve worked to prevent your region from dragging the planet into a third world war. It’s been thrilling to observe you. Making the right choice, choosing you, gave us a sense of pride. But for the sake of that crucial, that essential, that indispensable balance, the powers that be decided consensually that we would assume responsibility for maintaining the relationship with you, sharing all the intelligence and insights you pass on to us with our colleagues in Langley.”
Brian went silent. And Cobra didn’t say a word either. Brian had voiced that same explanation, the one he had just given to Cobra, dozens of times before. To himself and in numerous conversations with his superiors at the directorate. He had always asked himself if there was any logic at all to the crazy story. Would Cobra see it as a likely explanation for the fact that he’d been in the hands of the Russian SVR and not the American CIA, contrary to what he’d thought all through the years? And he had always told himself that even if the story was far-fetched and not very convincing, Cobra would prefer it to the truth. Because the true story was worse, a lot worse. A story of betrayal upon betrayal. Cobra, who was betraying his country, and his handlers, who were betraying him. That could be too much to handle even for a man of no scruples. Cobra would rather cling to the fantasy and believe he was part of a huge web of considerations and forces working to promote stability and calm and not some idiot who had fallen victim to manipulation for the past three decades.
Alon tried, despairingly, to argue. “Well, if that’s the case, why don’t your partners in Washington put me up, in San Francisco or Boston or Chicago? And I’m not going to say anything just yet about the fact that you could have shared your thinking with me, this concept of yours of the global balance.”
“The moment we assumed responsibility for the relationship with you, Alon, the responsibility to offer you a quiet and safe place in the event of your exposure became ours, too. Ours and no one else’s. And the only place where we can ensure your security is with us. Security and a good life and people who appreciate you. That’s what I’m offering you now. You’ll be a hero, Alon. But you must understand that we are serious. We need to act immediately. Trust us, just as you have trusted us all these years. We’ve never let you down. You know that. The sums of money deposited for you over the years—they’ll also help you to acclimatize. Not that you’ll need the money. We won’t let you down now either, now that it’s time to decide quickly and take action.”
“Listen to me, Brian,” Alon said quietly, almost in a whisper, dead tired all of a sudden. “I’m getting up and leaving now. I need some alone time. Quiet time. You can’t drop something like this on me and expect me to simply accept it, without questioning myself. You’ve been like a big brother to me for so many years, and now I don’t know who you are. You can’t even imagine the
danger you’ve put me in. I’m not a piece in a game. You, and your partners, if any part of your story is actually true, have treated me like a puppet on a string. What a cliché. Who do you think you are?” He raised his voice. “I’m a personal senior advisor to the prime minister, not some pathetic informer! I meet with presidents and heads of state! I’m authorized to read documents from the Mossad and Military Intelligence and the Shin Bet and the Atomic Energy Commission. You can’t treat me like some kind of pawn, someone of insignificance that can be moved from one place to another like a package.”
Brian put his hand on Cobra’s arm, but the latter pulled it away as if he’d been burned. “Alon, Alon, I understand you. I understand your emotional turmoil. Being a covert fighter for so long isn’t easy. Yes, you’re right, you need some time to yourself. You need some quiet. We’ll accompany you to your hotel. Have a good night’s sleep. We’ll see each other tomorrow. We’ll talk. You’ll see things differently. You’re dear to me like a little brother. I won’t let anything happen to you. No one will touch you, Alon. Come, come let’s go.” He stood up and Cobra did the same, swaying a little, clutching his arm. Night had fallen. A chill was blowing onto the shore from the lake. They started walking. At a distance of a few dozen meters the pair of bodyguards set out in their wake.
47
Alon was sitting on a chair on the small balcony of his room, which overlooked the black waters of the lake. He had left the room in darkness and had wrapped himself in his coat. Wisps of smoke rose from the cigar in his hand, a Punch Double Corona, which glowed a dull orange. He sat there and thought.
Again he could picture the young man, filled with conviction, who had rung at the door of the U.S. embassy in Rome all those years ago. Sometimes he recognized him, remembered who he was. He recalled his unbridled ambition, his deep-seated desire to go as far and as deep as possible, all the way into hidden, smoke-filled rooms that required presenting a tag or ID before the security guards would allow you in. And no less so, Alon recalled his fear of poverty. He saw his mother sitting at the small table in the kitchen, bent over a notebook, doing the math with a sharpened pencil, counting out the meager pile of banknotes and coins, counting and making notes, carefully slipping the money into the various compartments of her wallet. He felt a yearning for his father, whom he barely remembered. His hatred of the uncles who’d visit them on the rare occasion and disappear into his mother’s bedroom, until they stopped coming altogether. The thing that had saved him already back then was his unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Everything interested him—dates, details, names, well-known sayings by famous people, verses that begged quoting, algebraic formulas, programming languages. He remembered the initial battery of tests for the Israeli naval commanders course, the second testing phase, the excitement when the course started, the sense of disaster and shame when he was dropped, his insistence on embarking on an officers’ course nevertheless, the white uniform, the gold insignia of his rank, the small base he commanded. And despite his success, he remained envious of anyone who was better looking, smarter, richer.
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