Married to the Mossad

by Hessel, Shalva

  The two men touched glasses and Marin continued. “A few months later, Ben David returned to Israel and my liver inflammation flared up again. He suggested I come to Jerusalem and stay in a suite at the King David Hotel. He would stay with his wife and children in the next-door suite and give me treatments.”

  He sipped from the cognac with an expression of pleasure on his face.

  “Excellent cognac,” Jerry confirmed.

  “It’s a special Remy Martin. I’m not allowed to drink too much, so the little I can afford to drink must be the best. Let’s get back to Ben David. I continued to believe in him. We all traveled to Israel and there, following a one-week stay at the King David, the liver inflammation became an infection. I was hospitalized at Hadassah and was only released three weeks later, eleven pounds thinner. Ben David came every day, drove Muriel to the hospital and took her back to the hotel, also driving the children to the Western Wall and graves of saints. I did not fault him for my relapse despite his spiritual treatment. I knew what caused it.” He stared at Sally with a serious expression. “We are all flesh and blood and we all have our weaknesses. My weakness is women. Since we met Ben David, Muriel started observing Jewish law, including the days of separation from me during menstruation. A day before I fell ill, I pressured her to sleep with me, three days into her seven days of prohibition. She cried and said God would punish us, but I couldn’t help myself. The following morning, I awoke completely jaundiced and terribly weak. At Hadassah, they told me that had I slept another hour, I would have been found dead in bed.”

  He sipped from the glass. “We stayed in Jerusalem for another two weeks, and all the while I was paying for Ben David’s suite. A day before we were meant to leave, he showed up and asked for another one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for charity. In return, a Torah scroll would be written in my name. I viewed it as a symbolic gesture, a token of gratitude for all the assistance he lent us. I hoped it would help my recovery. I gave him a check and would probably have kept paying had I not discovered—just as we were supposed to leave for the airport—that Muriel was missing. I panicked. She only speaks English and can mumble some prayers in Hebrew. Where could she have gone in a foreign country? I knocked on the door of Ben David’s suite. There was no reply. I called reception and was told he had checked out, but left me a letter. It was from Muriel. She said she had decided to stay close to Ben David’s family in order to be close to a man of God. She was leaving the children with me. If I wanted to contact her, I was to communicate with Ben David’s wife, Shlomit. Naturally, I phoned immediately. Shlomit reassured me that Muriel was merely experiencing a bout of depression and the rabbi was treating her. ‘We will call you in a few days,’ she promised.”

  His eyes went moist again, and he wiped them with a pristine handkerchief. “What choice did I have? The children and I returned to Switzerland. My older boy’s condition started deteriorating again and the younger one cries and waits for his mother to return every day. I’ve asked Shlomit to make Muriel speak to me, but she said again and again that Muriel is isolated in a house in Portugal, that she is in a process of spiritual purification and religious devoutness and should not be in touch with anyone from her past. However, she added, expenses were significant and the rabbi was asking for an additional two hundred thousand dollars. Here, for the first time, I felt I would not yield to his authority. I didn’t pay. I preferred to invest the money in finding Muriel. I asked Monsieur Darmond to search Europe and especially Portugal and… Yes, Sally, we were wrong. We thought we knew where she was: In a small village near Oporto. The investigations company reported that Shlomit was living there with her, along with two maids and Ben David who arrives every now and then on the weekend. Muriel, they argued, never left for a moment. They tried to question the maids when they went shopping, but the maids shut up and disappeared. I don’t know if they were wrong, were misled, or deceived me knowingly. We will check that.” An expression of fury spread across his face and disappeared. “I called Shlomit’s mobile phone every day. She said Muriel was not interested in speaking to me. She was hurt. I was a difficult man, she argued, and inconsiderate, and she was debating whether she should stay with me. Meanwhile, I needed to take care of the children, to send them to school, to see to their emotional needs. I can’t do it. I simply can’t. They need Muriel back and I wanted her back; if not for me, at least for them.”

  “May I?” Jerry bent forward toward the cognac bottle.

  “Of course,” said Marin, and continued. “Therefore, I needed to separate her from Ben David. Monsieur Darmond found a lawyer in Israel who promised to find Ben David, obtain information about him, and file a complaint against him for every possible felony until he lets go of Muriel and releases his wife’s supervision of her. I paid the lawyer one hundred and thirty thousand dollars, but he did nothing. He cheated me, too, buying time with various excuses. After six months of suffering, he argued that Ben David violated no law and nothing could be done to him. Now I understand he had colluded with Ben David, and together they began tightening the noose around my neck: Vivian Moyal flooded my office with telephone calls, Ben David sent me messages about the need to give Joel a bar mitzvah, and Shlomit, who returned to Israel meanwhile, said she had left Muriel in the care of a different rabbi’s wife who moved into the house in Portugal. Again and again, she insisted that Muriel refuses to speak with me. Turns out I financed a vacation on the beach in Portugal for Shlomit, then another woman, while Muriel was in Beersheba the entire time.”

  He laughed bitterly. “So many sophisticated businessmen tried to trick me and failed, and this gang succeeded. I can’t understand it.”

  “In business, people are constantly alert to any harm,” Sally commented. “Not so in personal life. They hurt your most vulnerable spot, where you were most trusting: Your family.”

  “Yes,” Marin nodded sadly. “That probably explains it.” He shook his head. “I have no illusions. She won’t return to me. But the children need her, and for their sake I’m prepared for any kind of separation settlement. Sally, you seem like the right person to me. You have experience in intelligence, a sense for detective work, ties, connections, and feminine wisdom. You’ve succeeded in finding Muriel where a large investigation agency failed. Can you bring her back to the children?” For a moment, his eyes were begging just like those of his younger son, whom Sally met at the entrance to the house.

  “I don’t know. I need to think.” She was already starting to conceive a plan.

  “Please. I have lawyers, detectives, assistants—but I need someone like you. I will pay any sum you ask for.”

  “I’m employed by an insurance company. I will take an unpaid leave of absence, and when everything ends I’ll go back to work. All I’m asking you for is to cover the expenses.”

  He looked at her with astonishment.

  “What is so surprising to you about that?”

  “No one ever did anything for me for free, and when it came to Israelis, things were much worse. Everyone deceived me, not only Ben David and the lawyer. There were many others.”

  “That’s why I’m willing to help you,” said Sally. “To prove to you that not all Israelis are cheats. The only thing I want is free access to any information you have and to meet the lawyer who took care of the matter. And yes, I would like Monsieur Darmond to travel with me and cover my expenses, with your permission. I will give him receipts for everything.”

  Marin nodded his head.

  “We must pay the private investigator I employed, He will contact Darmond and he will pay him directly. My friend who planted the eavesdropping equipment also deserves something. Five thousand dollars seems like a fair sum.” She looked at her watch. “Tomorrow I will return to Tel Aviv and start acting.”

  Marin stared at her for a long while, and then a rare smile appeared on his face. “Thank you, Madame Sally, Monsieur Jerry. Tomorrow at lunch you will receive tickets
for the eight o’clock flight from Geneva.”

  Back in the guest room, Jerry asked, “Why do you need Darmond in Israel?”

  “So that I don’t need to turn to Marin every time I need to pay someone, and besides, I prefer him on my home turf, close to me, rather than here where he can sabotage things.”

  “You realize you are playing poker with him?”

  “My hand is better.”

  “True, but even in such a case the game can end badly for you.”

  “How?”

  “Have you never watched a Western?”

  “I have, but what can defeat a good hand?”

  “A gun,” said Jerry.

  24.

  The following morning, Natalia knocked on their door at the guestroom. “Monsieur Marin would like to know if you are interested in leaving for the airport earlier, and stop at the town for an hour or two.”

  Jerry looked uncertain. Sally replied, “Yes, of course.”

  Evening fell early, and as they drove away from Marin’s mansion, lights began appearing in the villages and farms dotting the hillsides. The car traveled on country roads whose sides were covered in snow. Glancing through the left wing mirror, Sally noticed a gray Peugeot following them. It would not have drawn her attention were it not the only car on the road, adapting its speed to theirs. As they entered Gstaad, she whispered to Jerry, “Someone is following us.”

  “I know,” he replied. “My side has a mirror too.”

  “Police?” Sally asked, concerned.

  “I don’t think so. Police would have pulled us over. Someone following us would have the opposite intention: To obtain information about our actions at any given moment.”

  “Maybe Marin? He could have woken up in the morning full of doubt.”

  “Maybe,” Jerry retorted, laconically.

  The limousine came to a halt near a snow-covered pedestrian street, glowing in the dark. The Peugeot parked a distance away, sticking out among the fancy cars like a sore thumb. The pedestrian street was lined with designer fashion shops, banks, jewelry shops, and ski suppliers. “How do people live here?” wondered Sally aloud as Jacques opened the door for her. “No supermarkets? Hairdressers? Hardware stores?”

  The driver laughed. “Not here. Millionaires arrive here from across Europe, and here they buy everything they need. Millionaires, you can imagine, don’t shop at supermarkets.”

  “So where do they shop?” she asked.

  “All the food consumed at Mr. Marin’s house, for example, is delivered by a supply company.”

  “And what’s done with all the leftover food?”

  “Mr. Marin demands that much more than he needs is cooked, so that he can donate to the poor. A special car delivers the food to a soup kitchen he established in Geneva. According to your religion that is a good deed, is it not?”

  “It is,” Sally affirmed with satisfaction. Marin’s generosity required no proof, but she was glad for the confirmation.

  Sally spent the next half hour at the Lorenz Bach boutique shop. She bought a silk scarf, a pair of shoes, and a few sets of underwear she was sure Jerry would appreciate. Meanwhile, her husband passed the time at the Alpha Romeo display room nearby. When she arrived at the cashier, the driver awaited her there. “Monsieur Marin insists on paying for the shopping,” he declared. “In fact, it’s already been paid. He has a tab at this shop.”

  On the way to the airport, the gray Peugeot could not be seen, if indeed it was still following them. At the terminal, a stewardess awaited them, an exact replay of the reception they had had in Tel Aviv. She swiftly walked them through check-in, security, and passport control, delivering them to their first-class seats. Darmond, however, arrived last, a moment before the flight closed. He sat a few seats away from them, reading newspapers he brought with him. Jerry watched a film and Sally shut her eyes and let her mind wander. While abroad, she often met people with opinions of Jews and Israel similar to those of Marin, and always felt a stab in her heart. Now she finally had the opportunity to prove to an influential man that things weren’t so. She was steadfast and undaunted. Who would try to harm her? Ben David was only dangerous to those who fell into his net and believed in him. Monsieur Darmond also seemed harmless, although he remained an enigma to her. He was supposedly loyal to Marin, but Sally couldn’t forget Jacob’s report that Darmond stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel while Vivian Moyal visited it as an unregistered guest. Did she stay in his room? The information collected by the investigation company hired by Darmond also turned out to be baseless. Was he tricked by the company or did he conspire against his employer? His blatant coldness toward her and Jerry only increased her angst. What was he up to?

  She preferred to put her doubts aside and focus on the important matters: First, returning Muriel to her children and second, exposing Ben David so that he couldn’t entrap other people. It was clear to her that she was entering an adventure with a known beginning but a mysterious end. She could expect surveillance, eavesdropping, time away from home, work at ungodly hours, and untold dangers. But she was prepared for all of this and saw it as an opportunity to do something meaningful that could save her people’s reputation. As far as she was concerned, it was a mitzvah.

  After landing in Tel Aviv and rushing through the regular stations with the help of a skilled stewardess, Darmond approached them. “I will go straight to my hotel,” he said with a smile that did not correspond with his standoffish behavior during the flight. “We’ll talk on the phone and coordinate the meeting with the lawyer.”

  “What hotel will you stay at?” asked Sally. “Perhaps we can share a taxi.”

  Darmond led the way to the taxi station. When they arrived, he said, “Ladies first,” and helped Sally into the first taxi. Jerry sat next to her. Darmond then said, “There’s no point in us squeezing in. I will take the next taxi.” He shut the door lightly.

  “Did you see that?” asked Sally. “He’s avoiding us. What’s his story?”

  “Maybe those are Marin’s instructions. He wouldn’t disobey his boss.”

  They looked through the back window and saw Darmond walk past the row of taxis, cross the street, and approach a car waiting for him. It too was a Peugeot. “He has something with Peugeots,” Jerry said.

  “He has something with us,” murmured Sally as the Peugeot followed them and disappeared at the first interchange.

  25.

  Late at night, after unpacking her suitcases and distributing gifts to the children, Sally sipped wine in the dim living room. The events of the recent days seemed like a dream to her: The plush site in the Alps, Marin’s powerful and tortured personality, the child with golden hair who pleaded for his mother, and the cunning Darmond. She was sure he wouldn’t call to coordinate the meeting with the Israeli lawyer and blame her for that as well.

  But he did call, and even did so quickly. The next day, at seven a.m., Sally’s mobile phone rang. Darmond announced that he had scheduled an appointment with Mr. Ovadia at the Daniel Hotel at ten. “Monsieur Pierre has a suite here,” he said, with a candor that contrasted with his elusiveness on the flight and at the airport. “And I’m staying in it.”

  “I’ll be there,” said Sally dryly.

  At breakfast, she described the conversation to Jerry. “I wonder what he’s preparing for me now,” she added. After preparing lunch for the children and tidying the house, she put on a dark business suit and high-heeled shoes, and left.

  The only parking space near the hotel was a dusty dirt lot, which was not promising for Sally’s shoes. When she arrived at the reception, the leather on her heels was already scratched. She asked for the phone number of Mr. Marin’s suite, and to her surprise was asked to wait on one of the lobby couches. She watched the clerk pick up the telephone receiver and speak quietly into it. After he was done, he signaled to her to wait some more. A few seconds later, a different
clerk approached her and asked her to follow him.

  They ascended to the eighth floor and turned onto a long corridor. One of the doors was open and cast a square of light onto the blue carpet. A thundering voice spoke French with a heavy Middle Eastern accent, and a voice replied curtly—Darmond’s voice.

  The clerk stopped at the open door, knocked on it softly, and disappeared. Darmond appeared wearing white tennis clothes and shook her hand politely. She followed him into a large sitting room that overlooked the sea. The man with the thundering voice was tall, full-bodied, and boasted a potbelly that swayed before him. He wore a large kippah. The hat of a Hassid rested on the table, next to a pile of plastic folders filled with papers. The man glanced at her briefly and said, “Attorney Ovadia, pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you too,” she replied, even though she wasn’t.

  Ovadia collapsed on one of the couches and said in Hebrew, “Mr. Darmond tried to explain your role here, but with little success. Are you a lawyer?”

  Sally sat on the couch across from him and watched the sea glistening beyond his shoulder. “I suggest we switch to English,” she said pleasantly, “so that Mr. Darmond can also be part of the conversation. No, I’m not a lawyer. Enough lawyers have been meddling in this. I was appointed by Mr. Marin to examine what you’ve done so far to release his wife from Ben David’s influence.”

  “Rabbi Ben David,” Ovadia corrected her, “has no connection to Mrs. Marin.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve used the largest investigation company in Europe. They filed reports on the matter and Mr. Darmond can attest to that.”

  Sally looked at Darmond, who signaled at a pile of files laying on the table. “It’s all here,” added Ovadia, “but I doubt you can read it. Most of the documents are in French.”