by Rose Fox
“Look, Rania, the person who comes to attack you isn’t going to warn you. You won’t manage to prepare to confront him, and he certainly won’t wait till you’re ready.”
“Oh, so how am I to defend myself?”
She attempted to get up and Khalil extended his hand to her, but she didn’t take it. Khalil laughed and waited for her to stand up without his help.
“After you Ma’am, to the gym.”
In the gym, he stood beside a rope holding a brown leather punching bag that hung down from the ceiling. He embraced it and set it in front of him.
“Let’s say that this bag is your enemy and you have to neutralize him.” He challenged, and Abigail struck it with violence and aggression she didn’t know she was capable of, and he yelled at her:
“Hey, stop, stop! Don’t go crazy. You’re insane.”
Abigail stopped, gasping wildly and looked at him in surprise.
“You asked me to neutralize him, right?
“Right, but I want you to learn to control your responses, not go crazy and lose control of yourself.”
She panted, wiped her perspiring forehead with her arm and stamped her feet impatiently.
“Listen, it’s important that you never lose control and even more important that you know how to manage the craziness before it takes control of you.”
All at once, she stood facing him with two fingers stuck out at him like a revolver, and laughed:
“What do you do now, Khalil? I’m aiming a gun at you. Defend yourself!”
Khalil grabbed hold of her two fingers and pulled her forward. She tripped and fell on him as she cried out in pain.
“Like that” he called out, “the gun itself serves as an excellent means of control. I used it to make you fall. If you have someone holding you at gunpoint, that’s what you should do, okay?"
How could she have known that one day, she would find herself in that precise situation?
From somewhere in the building, they heard the beeps that precede the radio news, and they had no choice but to listen to the broadcast.
“Due to sanctions and threats to attack its nuclear facility at Purdue, North Korea has decided to move it underground.”
“Did you hear that?” she asked and continued listening.
The announcer spoke of a new Iranian subversive organization that the United States had added to its list of terrorist organizations, and she waved her hand dismissively. She pulled a dress out of her kitbag and threw it over her head as she turned to leave and heard Khalil shout at her:
“They asked me to remind you to come to the office this evening at six!”
Khalil slung his backpack over his shoulder and joined her, speaking to her, by the way:
“Do you have a license to drive a motorbike or a bus?”
“What?” She stopped and looked at him. “Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason,” as he raised his arm to say goodbye.
Abigail stopped in her tracks and mused as she watched his back moving away. She was pretty sure that he could not have ‘no particular reason’ for asking that question.
*
At ten minutes to six, Abigail parked her car, two streets away from the where the meeting was to take place. She crossed an alley that ran between two streets but didn’t enter the building immediately. Here, she leaned against a hedge and fidgeted in her handbag while checking that no one was observing her.
When she reached the door on the second floor, she knocked hard once, and followed with three softer taps and smiled to herself as she noticed that someone was looking at her through the spyglass. Momentarily, she felt like covering the spyglass with her finger, just to be mischievous, but when she entered and saw the grave expression on their faces, her mood became quieter. A stranger sat close to Barak and San, and she hesitated for a second.
Barak noticed her reticence. He waited for her to take her seat and whispered to her:
“Did you learn to speak Russian?” She replied immediately:
“When, exactly? Before my story or when I returned?” And she stared at the stranger.
He was a handsome man. His skin was dark, and his eyes were blue and she mused how they were unusual with such dark skin, and made him all the more remarkable. Short stubble grew on his cheeks, and his square chin had a large dimple.
The stranger heard Barak’s question and asked:
“If you were in Iran, did you manage to learn the Persian language?” Abigail recoiled. She answered but something in her objected to him and she turned to San and asked:
“May I ask who this gentleman is?”
San quickly introduced them.
“This is Rania, and that’s Mas’habi,” he said and attempted to lighten the atmosphere.
“Mas’habi is a member of the organization. His father is Persian and his mother is a Persian Jewess.”
Then Mas’habi interrupted.
“Just a moment,” he said and raised his finger, “I want to emphasize that my father was of genuine Persian origin.”
Something about his boastfulness put Abigail off once again, but she decided to keep her feelings to herself.
“Our Rania speaks Arabic and, in my opinion, will pick up Persian with ease,” Barak stated and Abigail threw him a sharp glance. Suddenly, it was important to her that San and Barak should not reveal her Bedouin heritage. She pursed her lips at them as a signal to keep quiet.
“Does she speak Arabic? No, I don’t believe it.” Mas’habi said and smiled broadly.
“Hey, you don’t look like an Arab to me,” He claimed. The color of your eyes is like the sky on a hot summer’s day.”
“Yes, that’s right. But your eyes are also light, and you’re an Arab,” she responded.
The man burst out laughing and banged on the table enthusiastically. The stone in her ring sent a little shock along her finger, and a tremor of revulsion passed down her spine. She had just grasped what San said to Mas’habi and immediately asked:
“Did you mention Persian? Why?”
“We’ll discuss it later,’ San beckoned with his finger and Mas’habi began to speak without having been asked to.
“Listen. There is a plan to operate on the strategic websites of the Islamic Republic.” Abigail was shocked; the muscles in her stomach twisted into a knot, and she looked angrily at San.
“That’s right, it is the plan,” Barak stated, and Mas’habi’s blue eyes glinted victoriously. He turned to Abigail again.
“Have you heard of the nuclear reactor in Bushehr?”
“Of course, I understand that you are one of the partners, who built it, right?” she asked, jokingly making fun of him, but Mas’habi continued enthusiastically.
“Did you know that reactor began producing electricity last September? In fact, it’s been operated by German companies since 1975.”
He looked at her to see what impression his remarks were making on her and continued chattering.
“The project was stopped five years later when the Iran-Iraq war broke out.”
“No, that is not accurate,” Abigail said sharply. “To date the construction there has never stopped and everyone knows that the Russians streamed funds in to continue building this reactor.” Now, Mas’habi’s tone and expression became less friendly.
“I don’t know where you collect your data, but I can tell you that it resulted from disagreements about money between Russia and Iran. That is the only reason the construction of the reactor is still incomplete.”
“Really? Did they fill you in on the details regarding the completion of its construction?” She asked, not expecting an answer, but he replied:
“The construction will end when the reactor becomes fully operational. That will happen when the reactor supplies the national electricity output with a thousand megawatts.”
There was silence. San got up and went to the kitchen. He returned with a tray from which the aroma of coffee arose.
“Just dark tea for me, I nev
er drink coffee,” Mas’habi said as he looked at Abigail.
They heard a weak tap at the door, and Abigail noticed that San and Barak showed no sign of surprise. A woman entered the apartment. She wore black, her head and face were covered, and only her fiery eyes were revealed.
“Hello,” she said and her voice sounded muffled by her veil.
“I would like to introduce you. Aisha, please meet Rania.” Barak rose and said:
“From now on you two will spend time together and learn from each other.”
The woman nodded obediently and made a gesture to Abigail to join her, but San raised his arm to object and directed Aisha with a nod to the back room. She acquiesced and disappeared into the room and closed the door behind her.
All the while, Mas’habi watched and followed the figure in black with his eyes without saying a word, then turned his attention back to Abigail as if nothing had transpired.
“Where are you from, in Israel?”
“From Tel Aviv.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Abigail drew in her breath sharply and instead of replying, she picked up the coffee cup and defiantly drank noisily from it, as she glanced angrily at Barak.
“When did you join the ‘Mossad’?” he asked.
Abigail turned sharply to Barak and San.
“Are the two of us supposed to be friends? Did you call us here to exchange personal information today?”
“See here,” Mas’habi said in an ingratiating tone, “I am prepared to tell you everything, even before we become friends. For example, today I came with fresh information for our ‘Mossad’ and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It isn’t even considered espionage.”
With that, Barak stood up, indicating the meeting had come to an end. He intimated that Abigail should remain and waited quietly till Mas’habi left the meeting. Abigail wondered whether to share her suspicions and realized he was talking to her.
“Firstly, calm down, the man is just very verbose. He’s a show-off and a great womanizer.” He said. “He’s just trying to impress you, nothing more.”
“What was the purpose of our meeting?” she inquired, “You knew it was important that I shouldn’t meet other people, who are involved.”
“Listen, you are likely to meet up in the field, in the course of taking part in our activities.”
“So what use will come of our meeting here?”
“How would you know that he is one of ours?”
Abigail stared at him sharply.
“Why are you staring like that? Tell me, what’s bothering you?”
“I’m uncertain, but it seems that man was doing a hard sell of Iran’s projects with a sense of pride, as if…”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. In my opinion, he’s not with us. At any rate, any connection between us is unnecessary.”
“Nothing is irrelevant,” Barak said and glanced at San.
Prior to the meeting they discussed her criticism of every issue and Barak thought about Abigail’s statement that this man was not on their side.
“I understand that I’m going to learn to ride a motorcycle,” she said and they exchanged looks of surprise.
“Perhaps. It did arise, and we thought you should also get lessons to drive heavier vehicles, too.”
“Ah, a train? What about a plane or a helicopter?
“How did you find out?” San inquired. He was not pleased that the information had reached her before they spoke to her.
“Ah, so the answer is affirmative then,” She replied as she avoided mentioning Khalil’s name.
San and Barak decided to send Abigail back to her home that day and have her come back to the apartment in Ramat Gan the next day to continue the program they had planned for her and Aisha.
Abigail was unable to fall asleep that night. She got up and stood in front of the open window. The street below was illuminated, and all was quiet and mysterious. Just then, the street lights were extinguished, and a breeze blew the drapes inwards, bringing in the chill of dawn. Something flashed close by her and shook the curtains and on the sidewalk below something orange flashed. She heard a dull sound behind her, and when she turned around, she saw a miniscule hole in the wall.
As usual, a flashlight lay on her bedside table, ready and available, and she turned it on. The ray of light illuminated a car, its door opened and closed. Abigail managed to see that it was a Fiat, and the number registered in her memory though she was unsure of the last two digits. She called in immediately.
“Barak, write this down quickly.” She panted excitedly into the phone, “85-088” and I’m not sure, but the last two digits were 65 or something like that.”
“I got that.” He said and without clarifying or questioning, he added:
“Get dressed and leave the house immediately and openly. Take whatever you need for the next two days and come here.”
“Right now? Come to you openly and not furtively?
“Of course, I feared something like this. That shot was not aimed at you but at the apartment you’re staying in at the moment, I repeat, Abigail’s apartment, not yours. Now, no one knows you, especially none of them.”
“But, Barak, Abigail is dead, she no longer exists.”
“Exactly, but surveillance on the apartment still continues and hasn’t ended.”
An hour later she reached the hideout apartment, and she settled herself in one of the rooms. In the afternoon, Barak arrived and informed her that her new home was on the same street where she lived, only opposite, in the building at number 30.
“Five buildings away from mine? So what was so smart about that move?”
“First of all, it’s two buildings away from your apartment and opposite it. The idea is that your new apartment is on the other side, facing the old one. You’ll be able to see if anyone comes to call, without knowing they’re being watched by the owner of the apartment they’re scrounging around in." He was silent for a moment and then added:
“Your car will also be replaced with a different one tomorrow.”
In the early evening a young man with sunglasses covering half his face arrived and placed a hard object that rattled in a bag on the table and Barak examined it with great interest.
“Wow, look at what they found in your apartment,” he announced. “It’s a bug.”
“Did they shoot a bug at me?”
“Yes, now it’s clear you weren’t the target.”
“Explain.”
Barak waved the transparent bag. It contained a metal object with thin metal wires sticking out of it.
“What could be simpler than planting a bug from a distance instead of risking breaking into the apartment? The bug will record and transmit and do the job without being discovered.”
“But what’s in that apartment? After all, the owner is already dead.”
“You’ve forgotten about the assassin. Do you think he didn’t know where you lived?”
“But he believes I was killed,” Abigail insisted.
“Rania, the apartment of the hostage, is now no less important that the assassinated hostage. It is an additional source of information about those who sent the assassin after her.”
Later in the evening, San arrived, asked her to sit down, and Abigail was attentive. He sat beside Barak since the plan today was to set out the details of her mission.
“In the coming period you will learn Persian and become a deeply religious Muslim woman.”
“Me? A Muslim woman in long robes and head covering?”
Abigail burst out laughing and the two long dimples in her dark cheeks, deepened. She didn’t notice how Barak stared at her, and she also had no idea how deeply in love he was with her. Barak had disclosed his feelings to San, although it was clear that it would be impossible to realize the relationship, especially after the attempt on her life. Now, when he knew he would have to part with her for years, his heart ached.
”Yes, Rania, that’s h
ow your life will be. Of course, a suitable cover story will be created for you.”
She was silent as she waited to hear what would follow.
“You won’t receive your assignments from us but through an operator.”
“What if I need to transmit information or consult with you?”
“You will not transmit anything.” He stated and lowered his voice to almost a whisper.
“You won’t report to anyone. And, if someone asks you to answer back to him, I suggest you get away from him very quickly.”
“I understand. But situations arise…”
“Rania, you are about to start operating wholly independently. The decisions you make and the way you perform will be yours.”
“That’s just fine and dandy. How will you know here if I succeed?”
“Don’t worry, we will know. When reports come in of a mushroom cloud rising over one of the reactors or computers crashing countrywide – we will be satisfied.”
He grew silent and stared at her, as he noticed the grave expression she wore and added:
“Rest assured that we rely on you.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as she quietly asked.
“What if I get caught or if someone discovers me?” She choked up and Barak felt the urge to go and hug her but quickly overcame it. He lowered his gaze in order not to reveal his feelings for her and glanced at San.
“There was once a TV series called “Mission Impossible,” San told her.” In each segment, they warn the agent: ‘If you get caught or disappear the State will not acknowledge you and will not protect you,' End of quote.”
All were silent and Abigail pursed her lips. She was quite clear about what she faced. For some time, she sensed her life had changed from the one that had ended abruptly with two shots and a headstone with her name on it.
*
A room in the house on Hagilgal Street was assigned to Abigail and Aisha when Abigail returned the following morning.
They had barely exchanged words when they met the day before. Abigail covertly studied the figure wrapped from head to toe in black and wondered whether she would be able to dress like her.