by Rose Fox
“Calm down. This is part of the risk of this business and it’s not your first time.”
Naim put the car into gear and then turned in the direction from which the driver with the mustache had come.
His hands were still trembling and he leaned forward and looked into the shafts of light the headlamps made in the darkness. Again, he remembered the driver, who was too frightened to talk or even mention his name. He just wanted to finish the assignment and remain anonymous, but alive.
The radio telephone came to life; it lit up and then went out again. He shrugged and continued driving, and began to analyze what had happened and now he understood. One of the women was intended for Ashraf, Omar's servant, and perhaps she was the one who had died on the way.
Suddenly the radio phone switched on again, the light on the screen came on and he saw a message.
TURN RIGHT AT THE T-INTERSECTION AND PROCEED TO THE LARGE CIRCLE. THEN, STRAIGHT TO THE AIRPORT.
His eyes were heavy with fatigue and the car went off the road and bumped on the sand. Naim decided to stop on the shoulder of the road. The engine of the car ran quietly but he knew that in the empty darkness that surrounded them it would be heard easily. Looking through the rear-view mirror, he saw that both women were asleep.
One of the women was snoring and he studied her through the mirror, but noticed that she was returning his gaze. Then she closed her eyes again and went back to sleep. For a moment he considered talking to her, but decided to continue on his way as he had been instructed. After forty-five minutes the headlights illuminated a road sign with a drawing of an airplane and the number three and he realized that in another three kilometers he would be able to sleep on the plane.
Dawn broke on the horizon and the telephone screen lit up again. He read:
TERMINAL 3
A car followed a short distance behind them as Shimon, the driver, silently observed Naim’s car enter the gigantic airport parking structure.
A dark-skinned man nodded at Naim at the entrance. The three of them followed him wherever he went.
An hour later, Naim and the two women were sitting on a plane to Israel.
Naim could not shake off the feeling that the passenger seated behind him on the other side of the aisle was glancing cautiously at him. He was not familiar with Shimon and it would have bothered him a lot more had he known that the man was escorting the two girls with him and was the one who had killed the mustached driver on the dark road from Prague. The truth of the matter was that the policeman stayed close to Naim only because he hoped that he would eventually get him to talk to him about Abigail.
* * *
Chapter Ten
There was complete silence in the Ayalon household. Relations between the judge and his wife, Sally, had broken down a long time ago. She had not spoken to him since Monday and for the past three days they had been behaving like strangers. The climax was reached on Monday. They had a horrible quarrel and she could not remember ever having such a bitter argument with her husband.
It began when Adam entered his home after three days absence. She looked at him and said,
“Welcome, lord of the manor! What brought you home?”
He stared at her in silence and she continued,
“Where were you on Saturday? On Thursday, you returned from London and on Friday you went out and…”
Adam looked as if he was about to hit her. Red faced, he shouted wildly, “Don’t you know not to interfere in other people’s business? Just deal withwhat concerns you!”
“Hold on there, calm down! What’s your problem? I’m your wife! Don’t I have the right to know where you’ve been?”
He stood up, went out of the kitchen, suddenly turned round, opened the front door and left, letting the door slam shut by itself.
Now, she considered the next step her husband would make.
On Thursday, Adam had returned from Britain, ‘the Island’, as he called it. Since then he wasn’t the man she knew. He took no interest in what was going on at home, went out and came home, without a word. He went to bed late at night without saying his customary ‘Goodnight’ and left in the morning, banging the door behind him. Even his expression was particularly sullen.
She knew that his nephew, Gil, his brother’s beloved son, was in trouble. She read the newspapers and watched the news of the day on TV. She was aware of the purpose of his trip, but as usual, he shared nothing of it with her.
Towards evening, Sally came home and heard him moving around in his room. She stood at the entrance to the room and saw him throwing various garments into an open valise on his bed. He noticed her and spoke, without looking at her.
“I’m going away for a while, I’ll be in touch.”
After that, he pressed down the pile of clothes and closed the bag.
“Why?” she asked, her throat choking up. This was what she had feared for a long time…
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
For a moment he seemed as if he would say something, but, no. Sally restrained her tears. Noticing her sadness, he wondered what to tell her. Of course, he could not discuss the new secret mission he was on.
He had been working for the ‘Mossad’ for years and she knew nothing about it so, instead, he said,
“I need a rest; I have to clear up a few matters.”
He picked up his valise, made his way to the door and then took a step back. “You can arrange for a separation. Just call me to come and sign.”
He opened the front door, went out and closed it quietly behind him.
Now, he sped away at the wheel of his new Peugeot. Its dark color shone in the sunlight. A long line of cars stretched along the Ayalon freeway in the heavy afternoon traffic. From here, he knew, he would continue on Derech Hashalom to the Florentine neighborhood. He had received a small ground-floor apartment with two rooms and a kitchen from the ‘Mossad’ in the old neighborhood, which he had been familiar with for years. The windows of thus apartment were at the level of the sidewalk and when he opened the brown wooden shutters, he saw only the feet of the passersby.
He arrived in the neighborhood an hour and a half after leaving his home on Frishman Street in Tel-Aviv. He parked his car, fidgeted in his pocket for his keys and entered the darkened apartment.
Later, he took a long shower and tried to relax in the warm water that flowed down from his head to his back.
Adam came out of the shower, mixed himself a drink and emptied it in one gulp. The strong liquor burned his throat and he grimaced. He immediately poured another drink thinking that it might soothe him.
He sighed. Adam was concerned about the day he had spent in England with the talented young advocate, Abigail. He was especially worried that he had no recollection of what had transpired during some of the hours of that same evening, especially that he had woken up in a hotel room beside Abigail, both of them naked and their clothes strewn on the floor. As Abigail was still asleep, he had decided to get out of the room and avoid causing her embarrassment and perhaps himself, as well.
In the past few days, because of her renown among the lawyers and her triumphs that were on everyone’s lips, rumors had reached him of considerable gossip around her life. There was talk of the birthday party her friends had arranged for her and her declarations to those present. He admitted to himself that she had not given him reason to feel or believe that he had any connection to her condition but that didn’t stop him from being apprehensive that she might be setting a trap for him. Now, he wondered if he should clarify matters and he called Abigail.
It was early evening and Abigail had come home some ten minutes earlier. The phone startled her and Justice Ayalon’s number appeared on the screen.
“Would you meet me in about half an hour? It won’t take long,” she heard.
“Is it urgent? I’m tired. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“I want to clarify something with you.”
“Perhaps we can postp
one it, Ayalon?
“I would prefer to speak to you in person and not on the phone. I’m leaving right now.”
His voice sounded concerned and not pleasant and, clearly, there was no goodwill behind his visit.
About an hour after he called, her doorbell rang and even before the door closed behind him, he began speaking without any opening niceties.
“Tell me it’s just a rumor and isn’t true.”
“Ayalon, are you certain you want to talk to me about this now?”
“I’m certain, and only of this. I very much hope that I am not involved in this matter.” There was a threatening tone to his voice.
“See here, Ayalon,” she said, “I did not approach you nor do I intend to turn to you. Why are you so worried about matters that concern me?”
“Good, because that’s what I wanted to know. It’s important for me to know if it concerns me.” He came up close to her, almost touching her.
“Because, if it has anything to do with me, then, at least, we should be aware of it and, perhaps, even reenact it. What do you say, huh?”
Abigail recoiled and pressed the middle button on the tape-recorder that was at the entrance, behind her.
“Ayalon, I don’t like what’s happening between us now and I think I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“No problem, I’m going, but I’m waiting for your answer,” he said and approached her again. “You can call me Adam.”
“No Adam, no other names and nothing more. We had better end this meeting now as no good will come of it.”
“Why? Only good will come of it. You know that I’m not indifferent to you and if I’m not mistaken, you exploited that very well when we met on the ‘Island’. I thought we could continue today exactly where we left off in a situation that neither of us really remembers.” Now, he raised his voice:
“You can’t hold the stick at both ends, Abigail.” He tried to grab her and she yelled in fear.
“Leave me alone, you’re hurting me. Ayalon, what do you think you’re doing?! Get out of here! Will it have to take calling the police to get rid of you?!”
He pinched at her back and kissed her lips, almost biting her. His breath reeked of alcohol.
“You’re drunk, you’re drunk again! The same situation is repeating itself. Get out of my house and my life. You’ve done enough damage!” she screamed at him. Her lips hurt and she tasted blood.
“You know, you’re right and I don’t know if I’ve anything to worry about. Apparently it’s some other man, who has to worry.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Exactly what you understood.” He said, “… apparently that’s the same whorish behavior and drunkenness that you displayed that night at the club.”
Abigail raised her arm to slap him, but he caught her fist and pushed her down on the floor. Suddenly he kicked her hip and she let out a moan of pain.
Afterwards, she heard the door open and then shut again. All was silent once more. A short while later, she regained her composure, but remained lying on the floor. Then she heard the tape turning and turning and she got up slowly, held on to the leg of the table for support and switched off the tape-recorder.
She didn’t go to the office the following day.
That night she sweated and vomited. At noon, she got up and decided to clear up the details of that unfortunate day in London. She remembered the travel agency which posted tour offers in its display window. She didn’t have the strength to drive so she caught a bus.
An hour later she sat facing a redhead, chewing gum with a closed mouth. Abigail asked her quietly, as if she was sharing a secret,
“Would it be possible to join a short tour to London this week?”
The redhead turned to the computer on her desk.
“Let’s see. Are you interested in touring independently or with a group? You’re young, so perhaps, you would like to join a walking tour, eh? No, apparently that isn’t what you want,” she asked and answered at the same time, spat out her gum in a plastic waste bin at her feet and waited for a response.
“It’s not important, I can’t decide now.”
Abigail walked out, feeling the chatty redhead’s stare of amazement following her and the pain in her right hip.
Afterwards, she wandered around for hours in Dizengoff Square. She stuck her face up to one of the shop windows, but couldn’t see a thing. When she got tired she went to the bus stop where the bus to her office stopped. A car drew up suddenly and its driver got out and waved his hand inviting her to get into his car. She recognized Advocate Avi Levy. At first she felt embarrassed, but she got into his car at once with an apologetic smile on her beautiful face. He didn’t stare at her and said something that was just the right thing to say to her at that moment:
“Abigail, you will get past this, don‘t worry, it just takes a fighter like you to get through it.” She didn’t respond but thanked him in her heart.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Do you mind taking me to my office? You know where it is.”
“No, remind me. Just joking, who doesn’t know?”
Avi changed gears and turned out of the bay just as a bus drew up.
She entered her office at five o’clock in the afternoon. The rooms were empty and when she sat down at her desk, she remembered she hadn’t eaten a thing the whole day. Her first call was to Udi from the canteen on the floor above.
“I’d be grateful for a large mug of coffee and one of your delicious Tunisian sandwiches.”
Rocheleh brought a tray and smiled as Abigail tore open the sandwich wrapping and bit hungrily into it.
When she finished she called the directory inquiries to locate phone numbers and asked for two numbers. One was for flight bookings from Lod and the second was for the phone number of a London hotel, the hotel where she had found herself in the morning with Justice Ayalon.
“Yes,” she responded to a question. “I want the earliest possible flight, round trip for one.” She waited and again answered without thinking. “Yes, Tuesday at eleven o’clock at night is fine; why not?” She didn’t take account of the fact that it was already Monday
Then she dialed the number of the London hotel. It rang once; someone picked up the receiver and put it down again. She called again and this time, too, someone picked up the phone and hung up. On her third attempt, the moment someone picked up the phone, she found herself speaking in Arabic, her mother-tongue, without giving it any thought.
“It’s urgent, don’t hang up.”
To her surprise, she was answered politely in Arabic. “Yes, Ma’am, How can I help you?”
She conducted the entire conversation in Arabic.
Abigail went home just to pack a few things and sleep for a few hours. She took her shoes off, lay down in her clothes and fell into a fitful sleep, awakening to look at the dark clock that stood on her bedside table.
The flight passed smoothly and quickly and on Wednesday morning she reached the hotel by taxi.
The curved counter at reception sparked a glimmer of memory and she saw a young man standing behind it.
“Hello, I’m Abigail. May I speak to the Manager?”
He pointed to a portly man, who was talking on the phone and Abigail waited.
“Yes, Ma’am”, the man said.
“My name’s Abigail.” She said in English and then changed to Arabic. “I think we spoke on the phone yesterday evening.”
The man’s expression became suspicious. As she discerned the change, she went back to speak in English.
“I would like to speak with the Manager.”
“Right away, Ma’am,” he said and directed her to wait in the lobby.
She sat waiting, surveyed the place and noticed the tiny cameras attached to the corners of the walls and the ceiling. After a long wait, the man signaled her to come into the room behind him.
A young man sat in the office, his glistening fair hair pulled back. He pointed to the chair facing h
im and she noticed him briefly looking her over.
“Yes, I’m all ears.”
“Thank you,” she said, but was unable to continue. She lowered her eyes and stared at her nails and then mumbled. “About five months ago, that is, on the sixth of May, if I’m not mistaken, I was here. I think I slept in a room in this hotel.”
“Do you want to verify the date or whether you were here?”
“No, I know that I was here, but I was somewhat intoxicated.”
“Ah,” he responded.
“Look, I’m not certain how I got here or who was with me,” she said hesitantly.
“It’s important to me to know these details.”
“Why?”
Suddenly, she spoke in Arabic without even being conscious of doing so.
“I woke up in the morning and received a phone call and…” she grew silent again and the young man looked at her with curiosity and quickly asked:
“Ah, was it with you I spoke Arabic on the phone yesterday?”
“Yes, it’s my mother tongue,” she replied, pleased with the change in his manner. “I’m Bedouin. I live in the desert in Israel, in the Negev,” she said in Arabic.
“How about that, are you Bedouin?” he asked and stared at her fair hair and she could see he was restraining himself from laughing.
“What about you, Sir! You’re also fair and speak Arabic,” she answered with a smile.
“Right, but I helped nature lighten the color because it’s good for business, I think,” and this time he was laughing out loud.
“Please forgive what I’m about to say, but I also think aloud. How could a Bedouin girl, who grew up in the desert, get drunk and hang out at a hotel?”
She also laughed, but hesitated to answer him because she didn’t want to give away more information than she already had. She looked at him and decided to confide in him.