CHAPTER FOUR
Entry
“AND IN FACT, THERE WAS A good-looking man sitting next to her on the plane, but he didn’t say he knew her from somewhere, and he took no interest in the book she was reading. Rachel was ready to respond to him with a noncommittal nod of the head, and she told me later she was almost disappointed when that was unnecessary. But she was glad he understood from her body language that she wasn’t interested. ‘Eye contact is the name of the game,’ she told me, and said she managed to contract herself into her seat and not meet his look even when she passed him the tray of food. She knew this was the right thing and she shouldn’t make any contact with him, as one question leads to another and there’s no knowing where it will end. Her story was ready, down to the smallest detail. All was prepared and backed up by paperwork and telephone contacts that we were ready to respond to at any time. And yet she had something to hide and there was no reason to volunteer information to a stranger who she might run into again. ‘Not everyone talks to their neighbors on a flight,’ I told her before one exercise. ‘They’re not all sociable, charming, making contact, and exchanging business cards. You’re better off keeping to yourself.’”
Ehud made sure that Joe was still listening to him. “I told her your story. I didn’t tell her it was you who made that mistake, or that I was using you as an example.” Joe didn’t smile, and Ehud continued: “‘Once upon a time, one of our operatives was flying to an Arab country, which for him was like a normal business trip, routine even. He found himself sitting beside a businessman like himself, and a conversation developed and business cards were exchanged when the plane landed. The operative went on to his hotel and forgot all about the man and the business card he left with him. The next morning the police arrived and interrogated him for hours. It turned out that the other guy was smuggling cigarettes, and when they arrested him they found the card in his pocket.’” Joe admitted that this was one of the mistakes he had made, and Ehud told him that Rachel had absorbed this lesson with ease, with ease that perhaps even disappointed her, because she too would have wanted to be friendly and liked.
“I think Rachel had a painful sense that people who were not in the Office felt that she could be doing more, that she wasn’t striving hard enough and did not assert herself enough. She was talented and gifted, but she was too adept at concealing these qualities. She had a lovely face with fine features but she was somehow hard to remember, to inscribe in the memory and say: This is a woman I want to see again. She wasn’t pleased when the instructors in the course told her they considered her looks an asset. ‘Please don’t be offended,’ the Unit commander said in the final briefing. ‘We see you as a weapon, and it’s better for us and better for you that it’s a concealed weapon. Under your facade of normality, and behind the pretty face, one among thousands like it, an operative is hiding, an operative who has completed her course with distinction and is capable of fulfilling whatever assignment is entrusted to her.’ She also thought we were happy she had broken up with Oren, and didn’t say he was the one who initiated the separation. To console her I told her that most operatives abandon their girlfriends after training, and she at once, in her typical way, told me it pained her to find herself in a group she didn’t want to be a part of.
“‘That’s what you need,’ she told me, ‘someone like me, who doesn’t have a boyfriend, who takes the world seriously.’
“‘Actually, not just that . . .’ I responded, and was trying to say something that would balance the picture, but she continued: ‘I know I’m not funny and not charming, and perhaps that’s what makes me suitable, because men don’t start up with me.’
“She was right, of course. And there was something else, something I said to the Unit commander before I fell in love with her, and after he said goodbye to her and wished her success. I said to him, ‘Rachel will be a good operative, but she can’t be coddled. She needs to be like a wrestler climbing into the ring—lean and hungry.’ And that is exactly what she was.”
EHUD DIDN’T SIT IN THE ROW behind her on the plane, nor did he peer at her through the mostly opaque window of one of the vehicles waiting on the tarmac. The Unit’s war room was unmanned the day she went deep into enemy territory, bearing a new identity, the image of a carefree young English teacher starting out on her way. There was no point holding a squadron of helicopters on alert for a rescue mission, because Rachel’s commanders knew that if something went wrong, not even a military intervention would help. They had told Rachel this, and it was clear to her that now everything depended on her. It was her decision, when she could go ahead with the operation and when it was better to stop and say: This is too dangerous.
There was no turning back. The plane landed and she needed to get up from her seat and move toward her destination. Around her there was a strange and menacing silence. Her neighbor in the next seat said something that sounded like goodbye, and someone standing in front of her in the queue for the exit chattered with his friend in Arabic. The flight attendant said something to her, and outside was the din of jet engines, but it all sounded far away, and she was alone in the world, in her own almost-silent movie. “Enough,” she said to herself aloud, and walked to the door of the plane.
Rachel shielded her eyes with her free hand and held her handbag firmly, as if someone might snatch it. The sun beat down fiercely despite the early hour of the morning, and the heat outside wrapped around her like an extra layer of clothing. She walked slowly down the steps and inadvertently exposed her thigh. “Everything has to be planned,” Ehud told her in one of the briefings. “Just as you don’t go out on a date in clothes you’ve yanked out of the closet, that’s the way it has to be over the border, at the first encounter with your adversary, the one who’s looking for a reason to take you aside and ask a few more questions.” They chose a simple blouse with a high collar, to emphasize her long neck and focus attention on her face, and a skirt with pockets, to accommodate passport and purse. But it’s impossible to think of everything, because now the light breeze forced her to use her hand to keep her skirt in place, and she drew the attention of the mechanic, who was looking up.
To her left the porters were already at work unloading baggage, and she resisted the impulse to check that her suitcase was there. There was nothing in it to incriminate her and even its loss wouldn’t jeopardize the operation. But a suitcase that disappeared would cause unnecessary complications, and another encounter with the airport authorities, who would want to see her flight ticket and know which hotel she was going to. She bought the suitcase with Ehud and he helped her twist the hinges. “From now on you can open the case in two ways, the normal way and your way. You’ll be able to tell if anyone has opened it. And even that doesn’t mean they suspect you,” he said, and went on to explain, although he saw her patience wearing thin. “The case can be opened accidentally, or by airport security, and the porters may simply do some pilfering, but better to know this and be alert.”
Up to now everything has gone all right, she told herself, exactly the same as at any other airport. And yet everything felt different. The fear was real, and the price of failure would be terrible. This wasn’t a case of another exercise, or crossing a border in Europe. Her teeth chattered despite the heat and she clenched her jaws to hide the tremor. Rachel took the last step and set foot on the searing tarmac to what seemed to her like a trap she was about to fall into, and she was sure that at any moment she would be approached by a tough-looking man in a safari suit who would ask her to enter one of the vehicles that were parked beside the bus, as in the exercise at Ben Gurion Airport.
A few more paces. She restrained the impulse to look around her, avoiding eye contact with the armed police and security men who stood and scrutinized the passengers. Someone touched her elbow, and she ignored him. If it’s a cop, by now he would have told her to come with him; if it’s a passenger walking behind her, this isn’t the time to look at him angrily. When sh
e almost reached the door of the shuttle bus to the terminal, which seemed to her a point of refuge, it closed and the full vehicle moved off and left her to wait for the next one, exposed to the inquisitive looks around her. She stood with the others and didn’t dare wipe the sweat from her brow. A middle-aged lady who stood beside her said to her in English this was the way things were here, and they needed to wait until the bus had unloaded its passengers, and then it would return for the rest of them. Rachel nodded, didn’t answer, and was glad that in training they acted out a similar scenario in which a passenger latched on to her before passport control, engaged her in conversation, and eventually asked her to help drag her heavy bag through customs. Her refusal earned high marks from the instructors, who were watching her through peepholes. Even the “passenger,” an experienced reservist operative, praised her, and told her she was the first candidate to show herself both affable and determined, not falling into the trap that awaited her, when the bag was opened and found to be full of drugs.
The bus returned in a cloud of dust and they boarded. A policeman stood near them, and to Rachel it seemed he was looking at her with a quizzical eye. Except for her and a middle-aged passenger, all the others were talking among themselves, and most of them were Arabs. She was aware of being looked at and pressed her legs together under her skirt. The cop took one step forward. The woman who stood behind her whispered a few words but Rachel didn’t hear what she said. A drop of sweat sparkled on her upper lip and she wondered if the cop thought this was suspicious. The bus set off with a jolt. The cop raised his hand and clutched the metal bar above him, and she saw the stain of sweat under his armpit and the fat and hairy midriff that was exposed. Her apprehension eased.
THE WOMAN WHO GOT ON THE bus with her stood behind her in the line for passport control. “How long will you be here?” she asked. “For a few days,” said Rachel, not turning around, thereby indicating to the stranger that there was no point in asking more questions. The line moved on one pace and she heard the woman huffing. Maybe she isn’t satisfied with my response. Fuck her. It isn’t my problem. She stood on the yellow line and waited until the tall man standing in front of her moved ahead. She kept the passport in her pocket. No point in getting it out too soon. Why should this woman know that despite the British accent she’s a Canadian citizen? Why should she see her new and empty passport?
Her turn came. She walked the three ominous paces to the passport control booth, peered at the pleasant-looking official, and handed over her passport. “Nothing happens, it’s exactly like the exercises, and you need to be ready and believe in yourself,” Ehud said to her last evening, in an attempt to instill a little more confidence in her. “There’s no one who isn’t a bit anxious at passport control. That’s how it is when somebody offers his identity papers for inspection. When the officer looks up at you, look back at him and remember you have nothing to hide. This is your passport. This is your trip. This is the work you’re looking for. For every question you have an answer.” “True,” she said to him, and added what Ehud also knew was the difference—the knowledge of the real reason for her coming, and at the end of the day the capital city isn’t Jerusalem, and it’s no longer a test.
The official looked up. She saw his black eyes behind thick-frame spectacles, and his tie, which was carelessly knotted, and she had time to think of what her father would have said about somebody going to work like that. “Where did you come here from?” he asked her, and she misunderstood him because of his accent and said she’d arrived just now. “No! Not when, from where?” She blushed. In training they had told her there was nothing worse than offending people in authority, the ones who think they know. All she needs is someone having a go at her now. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t understand you. I’m coming from Italy.” He flipped through her passport.
“First time here?”
“Yes.”
“Ever been to Israel?”
If Rachel had been a regular tourist, or a businesswoman concealing a visit to the Holy Land, perhaps she would have been confused. Nothing wrong with being confused, so long as there’s nothing to hide. She was ready for this question, since Ehud trained her to answer it when they rehearsed the questions to be asked on entry to the destination country. “Not yet. It isn’t far from here, is it?” she responded. The official smiled back at her and wanted to know what hotel she was staying at. Rachel didn’t tell him to look at the document she had handed over with the passport. She repeated the name of the hotel twice and saw him checking that the details matched what she’d written. The official extended his hand to the heavy stamps, put a finger in the middle of the page, and stamped the page alongside the entry visa. She took the passport that was handed to her and began moving toward the baggage area. This is only the first hurdle, she told herself. Too soon to feel relieved. As if to prove to her that something unexpected can always happen, a male voice was heard behind her: “Lady, lady!” She carried on walking as if the call weren’t addressed to her, and was alarmed when she saw the official who checked her passport overtaking her in an ungainly run and stopping in front of her. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, and handed her the customs declaration that she had left on the counter. Rachel thanked him and cursed herself.
The suitcase was already awaiting her on the conveyor belt, and Rachel gave due credit to the host country, and to what would for the next few years be her home port. Some of the passengers who arrived with her on the flight had already collected their belongings and were gathered in three ragged lines leading to the customs counters. She walked slowly and tried to take in more and more of her surroundings before choosing the customs officer who would check her out. She had nothing that could incriminate her, but she wanted to locate a friendly and cooperative person. The young and pleasant-looking customs man proved that it’s a bad bet to anticipate behavior according to outward appearance. He took the document, studied it, and asked her to bring her suitcase forward. She took it in both hands and lifted it onto the bench between them. The customs man looked at the suitcase and then at Rachel, who stood facing him. “Open it,” he said, and he checked all the contents meticulously, especially the toiletries, packed in a trendy pouch that she bought herself as a leaving present. “This is yours?” he asked, and held up the emptied pouch. “Yes,” she said, and realized that it might seem too chic compared with the student clothes she was wearing. “Have you brought anything else?” She showed him her handbag. He signaled to her she was free to go.
Rachel took the case and headed to the automatic door to exit the terminal. She felt the sweat in her armpits and figured a thousand eyes were fixed on her back. And then she stood outside, under an awning, and all around her there was commotion. The sun was high above the buildings surrounding the airport, and the Arabic signs, which she couldn’t yet read, seemed to be speaking to her.
A new sense of power overwhelmed her. She resisted the temptation to laugh uproariously, to tell casual passersby she had done it. She was taking her first steps in a place where, as far as she knew, no Israeli had been before her. Uniformed drivers tried to persuade her to travel with them, a sweating porter offered his services, and the tourist who arrived with her invited her to share the cost of a limo. Rachel rebuffed them politely and stood in the long queue at the taxi station and enjoyed the quiet moments granted to her as she waited.
SHE SAT DOWN ON THE DOUBLE bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down on her back. The phone on the table came to life, and she counted the number of rings before answering, exactly as she had been taught. A woman asked her in English if she needed anything, and suggested she try the newly opened sauna. “A few steps and two floors in the lift, and you’ll enjoy an experience like no other. Why don’t you try it?” the pleasant voice pressed her, and promised lockers, total privacy, and all chargeable to the room. She promised to think about it, and when she put the receiver down she stayed sitting by the phone. It was crucial to think clearly and stick
to basic logic. She repeated to herself the words that Ehud had drummed into her again and again. This is not an attempt to tempt her into leaving her room with her passport and cash stowed in one of the drawers, nor a tactic designed to make it possible to steal them from the room safe. They could have photographed the passport at the border crossing, or at the reception desk. If they want, they’ll find a way of stealing it and blackmailing her. The hotel is marketing its new services, that’s all. This isn’t surveillance, they’re not stalking her. But suddenly it seems to her the walls are closing in, and whoever is pacing around in the hall by the door of her room might as well come inside. She took a deep breath and began to unpack. Later she told Ehud that the situation reminded her of the interrogation that she went through at the end of the course, but at the time she did not know why.
THE “OPERATION” THAT SHE UNDERTOOK ON that occasion wasn’t a simple one, and her second visit to the Haifa Port Authority didn’t go well. She was supposed to make contact with the public relations department, and con her way into a guided tour of the bay and the docks. The instructor who prepared her for the exercise asked her to gather information about the naval base and security provisions against potential seaborne assault. Rachel studied the documentation given to her and wondered how a young Canadian who came to Israel just for one week was supposed to gain access to secure installations. The instructor said that was her problem, that was what the training was for, and he left her in the modest hotel room that she’d been assigned for the duration of the course to prepare her cover story. She decided to pose as a zoology student making a comparative survey of marine pollution levels in different ports, and after a few days spent in the university library researching the subject she printed up an ornate business card and letters of recommendation from some institutions in Canada and told the instructor she was ready. It soon became clear to her that obtaining authorization for a guided tour was going to be a lengthy process and her explanation of the urgency, the need to send the results to her tutor in Montreal, made no impression on the clerk, who gave her a hostile look and said to her colleague in Hebrew, This tourist thinks she’s entitled to everything just because she’s young and beautiful.
The English Teacher Page 6