Jade looked into the woman’s face, then at the man sitting a few feet away from her on the sofa. “The fault is more mine than yours,” she said evenly. “It was my place to reach out to you, but I didn’t know how to do that either.” She paused and reached down for her purse on the floor. “Would you like to see some pictures of your grandchildren?”
“Oh, yes,” the woman said in an excited whisper, and her husband nodded in agreement.
Jade opened her purse and removed the thick packet of photographs of Max, Max Jr., and Fatima she had brought with her. She handed the packet to Mabel Aden, who quickly sat down beside her husband on the sofa and began to go through them.
“The children are beautiful,” Abraham Aden said. “Max Jr. looks just like his father.”
“And you too, Mr. Aden. You can keep those photos, if you like. I have the negatives.”
The couple nodded their appreciation, and Jade rose and went to the window as the couple continued to study the photographs. She gazed out over the other small houses in the kibbutz, a synagogue, and rolling, dusty hills in the distance. She thought she saw sunlight glint off what could be the lenses of binoculars aimed at the house, but which could also be just the rifle of one of the guards who patrolled the perimeter of the kibbutz.
A half hour later, Mabel Aden said, “Thank you so much for bringing these to us, Jahli.”
“You’re welcome,” Jade replied, turning back from the window.
The man said, “But you are not in any of these.”
Jade smiled. “Somebody had to take the pictures.”
“You would maybe send us some pictures of you?”
“If you’d like. Of course.”
Mabel Aden reached out and took her husband’s hand, but her gaze remained fixed on Jade’s face. Tears had appeared in her eyes. “Jahli, do you think it might be possible for Max Jr. and Fatima to visit us? Abraham and I are old, and we don’t like to fly. We would pay their airfare.”
“I’m sure each of them would like to spend some time here getting to know their grandparents better, Mrs. Aden. Maybe sometime this summer. We can talk about arrangements later.”
The man nodded appreciatively. “Yes, that would be fine. We would like that very much.”
Jade sat back down in the chair across from the elderly couple who sat close together on the sofa. “Mr. and Mrs. Aden,” she said evenly, “I’ve come to Israel because the children and I have a serious problem, and I was hoping someone here could help me. While it’s true that I have friends here in high places because of certain work I did while I was in the Navy, I don’t know who they are. Every country has its secrets, and even if I did know who these people are I don’t believe they would give me access to the people I need to talk to. I’m hoping you can.”
The man and woman glanced at each other, and when they looked back at Jade there was confusion in their eyes. “How can we possibly be of help to you, Jahli?” Abraham Aden asked. “We are just an old couple living on a kibbutz. We have no power or influence.”
“Mr. Aden, Max used to make jokes about a relative who was, as Max put it, a ‘big cheese’ in the Mossad. He did it all the time. Whenever something of importance was happening in the Middle East, he’d laugh and say something like, ‘I hope the big cheese is on top of this’. I always assumed he was joking. Lately, I’ve been hoping he wasn’t. I would like to ask you if it’s true that you have a relative who occupies a high position in the Mossad. It’s very important, and I don’t ask out of idle curiosity.”
The change in atmosphere in the room was as palpable as the shift in the elderly couple’s demeanor was abrupt. The feeling of warmth was suddenly gone, and veils of suspicion had appeared in the eyes of both the man and woman.
“This is a very serious and sensitive subject, Jahli,” the man said stiffly. “In this country, every citizen feels an almost sacred bond to the Mossad and Shin Bet, for they are the organizations we depend on to protect us from our enemies, who are many. Our lives depend on these people. The names of these people and their relatives are carefully guarded secrets. Who they may be is a subject that’s never discussed.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Aden. I also understand that you might not know for certain if a family member worked for Mossad. Still, if you even suspect there is such a person in this family, I desperately need to talk to him or her.”
“Why on earth would you need to talk to somebody from the Mossad, Jahli?” Mabel Aden asked in a small voice, glancing nervously at her stone-faced husband.
“I don’t know if Max told you, but when I was in the Navy I did intelligence work. I handled a great deal of highly classified information, and I’m still legally bound not to disclose any of it. I could be sent to prison and lose my pensions if I do, no matter what the circumstances. Not long ago there was an incident in the town where we live now. A man and wife and their two small children were murdered. Because of the secret information I possess, I know who did it—not the actual names of the killers, but the nature of the paramilitary organization that sent them. This organization rightly considers me a threat, and two attempts have already been made on my life. One of those attempts also seriously endangered Max Jr. and Fatima. There is one man in the organization who is a personal enemy. He will stop at nothing to kill me, and he doesn’t care if my children die along with me. The civilian authorities can’t help me, and the Navy won’t. I have no way to defend myself against this personal enemy other than to track him down and stop him.”
Abraham and Mabel Aden looked at each other anxiously and spoke to one another in rapid Yiddish. Finally the man looked back at Jade and asked in English, “You say the children are in danger?”
“For now I have them both in places where I believe they’re safe, but that’s only a temporary solution. We can never be together again as a family until my enemy is stopped and the men he works for exposed as a criminal conspiracy. As long as these men are free, there’s always the threat of one or both of the children either being kidnapped or killed along with me. Back home, it’s these men who have friends in high places who protect them, and as a result I’m completely isolated and vulnerable. I came to Israel to try to contact someone in the Mossad because they have what is probably the best human intelligence-gathering operation in the world. Like the United States, they gather intelligence on their friends as well as their enemies. I know they have sources in our military forces, and that’s where many of these men who want to kill me come from. I believe there’s a good chance that Mossad may be aware of this organization, because these men’s business seems to be secretly supplying surplus arms to the highest bidder, which would include enemy countries and terrorist organizations. I would never do anything to jeopardize the security of Mossad personnel or operations. All I need is the name and whereabouts of somebody—anybody—in the organization, and I’ll take it from there. This is literally a matter of life and death for Max Jr., Fatima, and me. That’s why I need your help, if you can give it.”
When she had finished speaking, Jade’s heart was beating very rapidly and her mouth felt dry. She sipped at her tea while she stared down at the carpet, waiting for what seemed an eternity in the silence that followed.
It was Abraham Aden who finally spoke. “Jahli?”
Jade looked up. The expression on the man’s face had softened. “Yes?”
“I do not believe we can be of any help to you—but we will think on it.”
“Thank you,” Jade said, picking up her purse and rising to her feet. She took one of her hotel’s business cards out of her purse, wrote down her room number on the back, and then handed the card to the man. “This is where I can be reached. I’ll wait seventy-two hours. If I don’t hear from you in that time, I’ll know you’ve tried but couldn’t think of a way to help us. In any case, I’ll send you more pictures, and I hope things will work out and I’ll eventually be able to talk to you again and make plans for Max Jr. and Fatima to come and visit. Fatima will be especially p
leased. She’s a devout Jew who misses her father terribly, and meeting you as well as coming to Israel will mean a great deal to her.”
“Thank you for coming to visit us, Jahli,” Mabel Aden said quietly. “You’ve made Abraham and I very happy.”
“Shalom,” Jade said, heading for the door.
“Shalom, Jahli,” the man replied.
ii
Jade had been awake for almost twenty-four hours, her energy sapped by unremitting tension as well as jet lag, and when she returned to the hotel she barely managed to will herself into a hot shower, where she leaned against the tile with her head bowed, letting the steaming, stinging spray wash over her and relax her muscles. Then she brushed her teeth and fell into bed. She slept until she was awakened by the phone ringing at her bedside. She snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?!”
A man’s heavily accented voice said, “Jahli?”
“Yes!” she replied, trying and failing to mute the excitement that sprang from hope, filling her chest and throat with a kind of tingling, golden warmth. “Who is this?”
“This is Moshe Stein, Jahli. I am Mabel’s brother, Max’s uncle. Would you care to meet with me?”
Jade closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself, then replied. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr. Stein. Where would you like to meet?”
“You can call me Moshe, Jahli - or Uncle Moshe, if you prefer. I’m in the coffee shop here at your hotel. Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
“Yes, Uncle Moshe. I’ll be right down.”
Jade brushed her teeth and combed her hair, and then quickly dressed and took the elevator downstairs to the ground floor, where there was a small coffee shop just off the lobby. The shop was crowded at the moment, with a dozen or so tables placed very close together. As she entered, a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties rose from one of the tables and motioned to her. The man was a few inches shorter than Jade, perhaps five feet nine or ten, with a full head of unruly, thick, white hair, dark brown eyes, and weathered skin. Jade thought he had the look of a Sabra. He wore faded Levis, brown leather boots, and a soft, black leather jacket over a starched white shirt that was open at the collar. She went over to him, and he offered his hand, which was strong and calloused.
Jade said, “Thank you so much for coming to see me, Uncle Moshe.”
The man smiled, revealing white, even teeth. “You are as beautiful as Max always said you were. My nephew did not write to his family very often, but when he did it was mostly about you. Now I can see why. Sit, please.”
Jade hesitated as she glanced around her. A crowded coffee shop did not seem an appropriate place to meet with a Mossad operative to discuss a very sensitive matter. “Do you think this is a good place to talk?”
Moshe Stein raised his thick, white eyebrows slightly. “There is another restaurant you prefer?”
“No particular restaurant, but I thought-”
“Most restaurants in Tel Aviv are crowded at this time of day. The food here is as good as you’re going to find anywhere else, I assure you. Please sit down.”
Jade nodded tentatively, then sat down in a chair across from the man in the white shirt and leather jacket. He signaled, and a few moments later a waitress appeared with a pot of coffee and two ceramic mugs. The woman poured coffee for both of them, then waited expectantly.
Moshe Stein asked, “You want something to eat?”
“Maybe a bagel.”
The man wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “Not a wise choice. Bagels in Israel are not so good. For a really good bagel, you have to go to New York.”
“Then I’ll just have coffee. I’m not very hungry. Please, you go ahead and have whatever you want.”
“I’ve already eaten,” Moshe Stein said, nodding to the waitress. When the woman had left, he turned back to Jade. “So. You are in Israel on business, perhaps?”
Jade tried to smile, but her face felt as if it had frozen. Despite the fact that it was warm in the restaurant, she felt a sudden chill. “The Adens didn’t tell you why I’ve come?”
“Mabel told me that you’d stopped by to visit them, and that you’d seemed troubled. I thought a visit from another member of the family might cheer you up, make you feel not so far from home. I don’t recall Mabel mentioning why you came here. Perhaps I didn’t understand her too well.”
Jade swallowed hard. “You’re here … to cheer me up?”
“Yes, if I can. If you have time, perhaps I can show you around the city. It’s not Jerusalem, but there are still points of interest.”
Concentrating on keeping her hands steady, Jade took a pencil from her purse. She removed a paper napkin from a dispenser on the table, wrote on it Mossad?, then shoved the napkin across the table to the man.
Moshe Stein glanced at the napkin, then looked back up at Jade with a puzzled expression on his face. “You mean me?” he asked, pointing a finger at his chest.
“Yes,” Jade replied in a flat tone.
Moshe Stein laughed, and then pushed the napkin back across the table. “Oy, what a thought! I’m a tailor, Jahli. There must be some misunderstanding.”
“I see,” Jade said in a voice she hardly recognized as her own as she crumpled up the napkin and dropped it into her purse. She began to nervously stir her coffee, staring down into the black liquid as if it were the very deep, dark place where her hopes had just vanished. She kept stirring, hoping that the movement would keep that hand from shaking like the other, which she had placed in her lap.
“Of course,” the man said in a low, steady voice, “you do understand why, even if I was what you wrote down, I could not possibly tell you.”
Jade abruptly stopped stirring and looked up at the Israeli sitting across from her. Not only had the tone of his voice changed, but also there was something different about his whole persona, the image he projected. No longer was he the kindly, jocular, smiling Uncle Moshe, but a very serious man with a very serious expression on his face. “I understand,” she whispered.
“If such were the case, I might not actually be your husband’s uncle. I might not have given you my real name, and, of course, I would have to lie about what I do for a living.”
“Of course.”
“If you were certain I was such a person, it would put not only my personal security and the integrity of the agency I work for at risk if you were vigorously questioned by others, but you might be tempted to ask me questions I could not answer; if I did, I might in effect be admitting that people in our organization, or people loyal to us, occupy very sensitive positions in the governments of other countries. You will recall what happened to Jonathan Pollard. I could not possibly answer any of your questions, so what purpose would be served by admitting that I am what you wrote? Even if it was true, which it is not, I couldn’t be of any help to you. But at least I could buy you coffee and give you a tour of the city.”
Jade concentrated on breathing regularly. She sipped at her coffee, but quickly set the cup down when she saw that her hand was shaking. Moshe Stein was staring at her intently, and she stared back into his veiled brown eyes. It seemed to her that he was beckoning to and pushing her away at the same time, as if he were playing some very serious game for which she did not know the rules and in which a single misstep would cost her dearly.
Finally Jade said quietly, “Uncle Moshe, if you were what I wrote, could you think of any way to help me if I told you that my life and the lives of my children are at stake?”
Moshe Stein tapped once on the table with a thick index finger. “Perhaps it would help if you unburden yourself to me, Jahli. Small comfort, perhaps, but sometimes small comfort is all that is possible. Tell me what’s troubling you. What can you tell me about these men who would harm you and your children?”
“I believe strongly that they are soldiers in a paramilitary organization that consists of former high-ranking military personnel, and perhaps some people who are still active in the military and are helping them. They
’re somehow obtaining surplus or obsolete weapons systems and selling them outside normal channels. I can’t prove any of this, and I won’t be able to unless I can get information that will enable me to penetrate their organization. They fear what I can reveal about them, and so men are sent to kill me. The most dangerous of these men is a personal enemy.”
“Interesting,” the white haired man said casually. He sipped at his own coffee, and then leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know much about these matters, but it occurs to me that these men you speak of could be described as traitors. However, I seriously doubt that they would view themselves as criminals. Perhaps they are zealots who view themselves as patriots fighting against the dangers posed to your country by soft-headed liberals and human rights activists - while making a handsome profit, of course, which is simply the American way. In the beginning they could have banded together because they feared for United States security after Reagan left office and it became clear that the military budget would be cut deeply and many existing weapons systems dismantled. They might well have thought it incumbent on them, as former military leaders, to do whatever they could not only to preserve various weapons systems that might otherwise be abandoned, but also to maintain the flow of those weapons to certain governments or organizations they considered friendly to United States interests, as they defined them. Why, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that they were encouraged, if not aided and abetted, by a certain American intelligence agency that is banned from operating on American soil but that nonetheless has a habit of becoming entangled in these kinds of murky conspiracies. Is it your opinion that something like this could be happening?”
Jade simply nodded. She was hesitant to say anything, afraid to disrupt the flow of words from Moshe Stein.
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