Married to the Mossad

by Hessel, Shalva

  “Yes. If I continue this way, I’ll have no vacation days left.”

  “And you’ll have no job,” added Diana.

  “I’m not worried about that. No one there knows the system as well as I do.”

  “Now, when Jacob is taking care of things, maybe you can work more.”

  Sally contemplated. “I’m actually thinking of taking a leave of absence for a few weeks—”

  “Stop!” shouted Diana.

  Sally stepped on the brakes. “What happened? You scared me.”

  “Police. Park here.”

  The wall surrounding the rabbi’s house was painted in blue flashes emitted by the lights of the police car. Two policemen stood next to the motorcycle, examining its license plate.

  “We’re done for,” said Diana. “They’ll find the eavesdropping device and track me down through the rental company.”

  A police tow truck overtook them and stopped next to the police car. The driver came out, holding a huge cutter. The policemen explained something to him, pointing at the chain. The driver knelt, and in a moment the severed chain was thrown into the back of the truck. The policemen helped him move the motorcycle onto the towing platform, and when he drove off they followed him.

  “What now?” asked Diana.

  Sally put the car into gear and followed the police car and tow truck, allowing another car to get in between them, as she had learned in the agents’ course. The convoy reached the historic city center: Low houses from the Ottoman period, shadowed by ugly two- or three-story buildings covered with billboards. An empty water fountain served as a skateboard rink for children, next to a pedestrian street paved with colorful concrete blocks overtaken with merchants’ stalls. The tow truck turned into a courtyard surrounding a square building, followed by the police car. Above the gate, a sign read “Beersheba Police.” Sally stopped the car at a distance, and they both gazed, frustrated, at their motorcycle being offloaded from the tow truck and placed in the courtyard amidst rows of stolen or abandoned cars.

  Diana frowned. “What are you thinking about?” asked Sally.

  “Do you see that small gate on the left? It’s meant for pedestrians and at night, if there’s no guard, a motorcycle can pass through it. But it’s crazy. Someone can see; there are always policemen in the station.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Sally. “We’ll stay in Beersheba and come back at night.”

  “Are you crazy? If they catch you…”

  “It’s a risk I’ll have to take. Come, let’s find a place to sit until night.”

  It was four in the afternoon, and about three hours remained before the autumn sun would set. They went to a matinee in the cinema and then roamed the nearby shopping mall. Diana bought a light jumper to protect her from the desert chill outside. Sally preferred a fancy velvet jacket. Just before eight, they walked by the police station, stopping at a distance from it.

  They walked along the iron fence. In the guard booth, a policeman was devouring a sandwich and reading the newspaper. There was no way for pedestrians to enter the compound without him noticing. At the edge of the fence they turned left, and turned again into the alley behind the station. A high hedge stretched along the narrow street, covering a number of metal wires. “Stand guard,” said Sally and stretched her arm out to Diana. “The keys.”

  Diana handed her the keys to the motorcycle and stood with her back to the fence, eyeing the alley. Sally began to make her way through the hedge. The metal wires were ancient, and broke without much effort. The bush, however, was rigid and almost unbendable. She struggled to break the branches and make her way through it. “You won’t be able to come back through here with the motorcycle,” said Diana behind her.

  “I don’t need the motorcycle, only the device inside it,” replied Sally. “Later we can report it stolen.” She continued to wriggle her way through the hedge, finally whispering, “I’m in.”

  A dark character paced slowly along the building wall. A rifle hung loosely on its shoulder. “What are you waiting for?” asked Diana behind her.

  “Shh. There’s a guard here. I’m waiting for him to disappear.”

  The guard turned the building corner and Sally ran across the dark courtyard. When she arrived at the building wall, she walked along it and where it ended, she stopped and peeked at the front courtyard, which was awash with light. The motorcycle stood there, where it had been dropped off that afternoon. It seemed untouched. She crept into the courtyard, staying close to a row of cars that created a thin strip of shadow in the immense light.

  When she reached the motorcycle and crouched next to it, she was fearful of standing up and opening the seat lock. She extended her arm to the lock, holding the keys. The chair bounced up immediately. She felt around inside. The eavesdropping device was where they left it. When she tried to pull it out, it caught something. Sally tried pulling it again, but was afraid to use too much force lest she break the machine, or worse, destroy the recording. She had no choice but to take a chance. She stood up, and for seconds that seemed like an eternity, stood in the light shaking the motorcycle until the device came loose. Then she dived back into her safe strip of darkness.

  Her pulse thumped in her temples, but her mind was clear. There wasn’t much time left. If someone noticed her, they’d be there in a moment. She advanced, crouching, to the next row of cars, ran across an illuminated passageway, and found herself back in the dark. When she arrived at the back of the building she leaned against the wall, panting in panic. After calming herself, she ran along the hedge, searching for the opening she had created. When she couldn’t find it, she stood up and whispered, “Diana.”

  She heard no answer.

  “Diana,” she called out again, this time louder.

  Diana didn’t respond.

  The dark shadow of the night guard reappeared on the building wall. He suddenly stopped and turned toward the hedge. Sally knelt, fearful, among the bushes. The guard continued toward her and stopped at some distance. Sally froze. The seconds ticked by. What was he waiting for? She heard the sound of a zipper open and then of water hitting the ground. The tension dissipated inside her, but she couldn’t afford to breathe a sigh of relief. Not yet.

  The guard zipped himself up and walked along the fence, his head bowed in thought. When he passed by her, Sally could smell his sweat. She held her breath and didn’t exhale until he disappeared behind the building. Then she allowed herself to leave her hiding place and make her way out. The eavesdropping device made it difficult for her to break through the hedge, and she embraced it to her chest and pushed through the bushes with her shoulders. When she was halfway through, she heard a whisper. “Sally, is that you?”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was hiding. There are prostitutes hanging around here. I began getting propositioned, and the other girls don’t seem too friendly.”

  “Help me get out of here.”

  When Sally emerged from the bushes, she saw women wandering the sidewalks. A car moved slowly and stopped next to each of them. When it came up to Sally and Diana, it stopped. Diana signaled to the car to keep driving. He flashed his lights. They kept walking and he, challenged by their refusal, drove slowly alongside them. They picked up their pace, as did the car. Sally turned onto the main road and the car disappeared in the traffic. “You can stop hugging the recording device,” said Diana. “And your new jacket doesn’t look so great anymore.”

  Sally took it off. The sleeve was irreparably torn, bloodstains covering it from the scratches on her arms. She tossed it into a nearby bin. “Let’s get out of here. I’m cold.”

  The car waited for them where they left it, a paper note stuck to the front windshield. “An advertisement,” said Sally, optimistic as always. “A parking ticket,” Diana corrected her. She was right.

  Sally peeled the ticket from the windshield, buried the recording
equipment underneath the driver’s seat, and sat behind the wheel. She cleaned her hands and bruised arm with wipes and looked at the ticket.

  “How much is it?” Diana asked.

  “A hundred shekels. Now let’s go back to the police.”

  “I really don’t feel like having some dumb cop fill out forms and asking me where I was and what I’ve done.”

  “Wouldn’t it seem suspicious to you if a woman rents a motorcycle for two weeks; the motorcycle disappears from its parking place a week later and she doesn’t file a complaint?”

  Diana shrugged. “All right, if there’s no other choice, I’ll go.”

  She returned an hour later, holding a few sheets of paper.

  “Stupid policeman…questions…a fine?” Sally laughed.

  “He was actually handsome. We spoke about life half the time. What have you done meanwhile?”

  “I listened to the radio. Did they tell you why they thought it was stolen despite the chain?”

  “They didn’t think it was stolen. The good-looking cop explained that an important man lives near where we parked it, and after seeing it there for a few days, he suspected someone was planning a burglary or something like that. I signed a form saying they can return it straight to the rental company and bill my credit card.”

  “Did he happen to mention that the important man is a rabbi?”

  “I asked who he was, and he said he couldn’t tell, but since we became friends he said his name was Ben David and he was a real estate entrepreneur.”

  “Real estate entrepreneur,” Sally repeated, and suddenly jumped up. “We need to get the broadcasting device out of the communications box. It has your fingerprints on it.”

  “That’s child’s play,” said Diana confidently.

  They returned to the rabbi’s house. Darkness engulfed Diana, and she returned to the car a few moments later with the device.

  “Tomorrow I’ll give the receiver to Jacob and we’ll see what he finds.”

  “I want to stay in the picture,” Diana said. “Actually, I demand to. I’m already emotionally involved.”

  Sally examined Diana’s face, illuminated by the headlights of a passing car, and felt deep closeness to her. “You know,” she said, “tonight I realized I’m not only married to a Mossad agent, I’m married to the Mossad. The sense of mission, the adventures, the responsibility…”

  “Tell me about it.” Diana laughed.

  17.

  As in their previous meeting, Jacob’s eyes were glued to the screen. Now, his ears were also shut, covered with large earphones. “I’m listening to the recordings you brought, and to those we taped ourselves,” he quickly remarked before Sally could scold him. “We don’t know these characters yet. Can you try to recognize the voices in this conversation, for example?” He removed the earphones and pressed a button. Sally heard a ringing tone and then “Hello?” in a French accent.

  “Vivian Moyal,” she said immediately.

  “It’s us,” said a male voice. “Can you speak?”

  “Ben David,” she added.

  Vivian exchanged a few sentences in French with a man probably next to her, then said, “One moment, I go to different room.”

  Jacob stopped the recording. “Do you know who she’s with?”

  “No. Maybe you can find out through the number?”

  Jacob leafed through a notepad on his desk. “The number belongs to a phone in Geneva—the Four Seasons Hotel. Our tracker saw her enter the lobby. They probably recognized her at the reception, because as soon as we asked for her they didn’t even ask for the room number but transferred us immediately. We also discovered that a man connected to Pierre Marin is staying at the hotel, his lawyer to be precise. Robert Darmond, also a Moroccan and childhood friend of Marin’s. Vivian may be romantically connected to him, she may have only visited his room during the conversation, or she may have even been in the room with another man, making Darmond’s presence coincidental.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence, certainly not concerning Vivian Moyal. She’s interested in Marin, and Darmond’s his lawyer. There must be a scheme that Ben David is involved in here. I want to hear what she tells Ben David.”

  Jacob silently pressed a button.

  “How?” the rabbi asked.

  “Not all right. He doesn’t want to meet.”

  “Did you tell him it concerns his wife?”

  “Yes. But he thinks I ask for something and he doesn’t want to give nothing. He is a difficult man.”

  “We’re thinking of a bar mitzvah here. He will have to let go of the older son at least.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s barely Jewish.”

  “Never mind. His mother wants a bar mitzvah. She’s dying to see the kid and we hear from her that the children also miss her. If we bring the older one here, give him a bar mitzvah at the Wailing Wall, and he sees his mother grow closer to Judaism, he will stay.”

  “How is she?”

  “All right, thank God.”

  “Where?”

  “You know, at the Lulav.”

  “Does she go out?”

  “She doesn’t go out and doesn’t want to. It’s cold outside and she heats herself with the fire of Torah. She will do what we want. She even gave us, you know, the necklace she got from him.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” Vivian’s voice rose with anticipation. “I want that necklace.”

  “You won’t have it, better you don’t wear it by mistake. In the meantime, we put in the safe.”

  “He probably say give chain back. It was his mother’s—”

  Ben David cut her off mid-sentence. “There’s no going back. She already told him it’s lost.”

  “And if she says to you, ‘Give it back’?”

  “There’s no regrets and no going back.” Ben David’s voice rose in fury. “We already told her we donated it to an orphanage. Okay, now think about how to bring the boy here. We might have to go to court. We will send you a power of attorney from the mother, signed by a lawyer and the Swiss consul. The court will let her. That’s the law all over the world. She’ll ask that he come for a vacation. We’ll do a bar mitzvah like we said and then he’ll stay with her.”

  Vivian mumbled, “How smart you are, thank God.”

  Ben David was silent, then suddenly said, “All right,” and hung up without saying goodbye.

  “He has partners,” said Jacob. “Throughout the conversation, he said ‘we.’”

  “That’s how rabbis speak of themselves to their disciples. What’s more worrying is the matter of the mother and child. What is he talking about?”

  “Well, let me tell you some things about Pierre Marin. He hides his biography, and it was very difficult to collect all the details we found in one narrative.” He pulled a thick folder from the edge of the table and opened it carefully. Inside, punched pockets, documents, handwritten lists, and printed pages could be seen. “Shall we begin?” Jacob asked.

  “Let’s begin,” Sally answered excitedly.

  “Well, Pierre Marin, fifty-five years old, was born in Morocco to a Jewish father and Muslim mother. His father worked in gold mining in Africa, and he inherited his business and became a billionaire. He is the owner of one of the fanciest yachts in the world, a palace in the French Riviera and a mansion in Gstaad, a town of millionaires not far from Geneva. He’s an art collector, a man of the world, multilingual. His two homes look like museums and he even keeps artwork in his yacht.”

  “What kind of person is he?”

  “He’s difficult: Overbearing, blunt, easily angered, suspicious to the verge of paranoia. Then we come to the wife and children. He’s difficult not only in business but also at home. Everyone shakes in his presence. He feels as though he deserves everything, because in his immediate circle everything belongs to him. As a young
man, he married a Moroccan woman. She gave birth to two children and raised them as he traveled the world and met other women. He loves beautiful women, especially top models. His second wife, Muriel, twenty years his junior, he met on his yacht when she arrived—along with other models—to a photoshoot on his yacht for Vogue. For some reason, he took to her from all the other women around. He left his first wife and children, married Muriel, had two more children with her, and even demanded that she convert to Judaism.”

  “At least he’s a good Jew.”

  “Not really. Before his father’s death, Pierre promised him he’d live as a Jew, but in practice he never kept any religious commandments or visited Israel. Everything changed three years ago, when he began suffering from liver disease. The doctors recommended an operation. Vivian introduced him to Ben David, who came to Gstaad, carried out a few spiritual rituals, and recommended not to touch the tumor. It was a huge risk, since Marin was already admitted for preliminary examinations at the Mayo Clinic in the US. Surprisingly, the gamble succeeded. The tumor vanished or at least stopped spreading. The metastasis even went into remission. Rabbi Ben David—”

  “Don’t call him a rabbi. Do me a favor,” Sally interrupted him. “Ben David is enough.”

  “Ben David—” Jacob continued with a smile “—became Pierre Marin’s spiritual guide, demanding that his family members adopt a traditional lifestyle. Marin showered Ben David with money and asked him to also treat Muriel and his older son, Joel.”

  “Are they sick too?”

  “In a certain sense, yes.” He turned a page and continued. “Years of living with Marin didn’t do Muriel any good. She started drinking and became depressive. The older boy, Joel, suffers a lot. Over the past few years—he’s just twelve years old—he was thrown out of a number of schools, tried to commit suicide, and Ben David declared that if he was not allowed to treat the boy, he could become a criminal.”

  “And the younger son?”