An itch crawled down his spine. It had been a while since a woman stayed in his house. His casual affairs normally ended at the lover’s house or a hotel room with him apologizing at the end of the act and running back home by using various excuses.
Arik lightly kissed her forehead and headed upstairs to shower. When he came back, the rich scent of strong Arabica espresso rose from the kitchen, mixed with the smell of butter melting on the croissants warming in the oven. Scrambled eggs sizzled in a frying pan. The table was set for two, and a pitcher with orange juice and ice was placed at its center. Eva was curled in a black leather armchair, waiting for him. He smiled at her and they sat down to eat.
When did she manage to do all that? He thought with appreciation while sipping from the fine coffee and munching his croissant. Eva looked thirtyish, the age When at which women begin to seek their nesting place. After a night of lovemaking, she stayed in his bed and now had even prepared breakfast. How could he stop her from settling in his house?
“Arik…” She disturbed his thoughts. “You said you’d be going to Jerusalem this morning. Could you take me with you and drop me off somewhere I could easily get back to my hotel?”
“Sure,” he answered reluctantly. “But you’ll have to be ready in ten minutes.”
“How about five?” She teased him with a smile.
He followed Eva with his eyes as she climbed the wooden staircase. His cell phone vibrated, the caller ID identifying it as the personal assistant to the director of Mossad.
“Yes, Itzik,” Arik said. He didn’t especially like the man who had arrived from the Administration and Human Resources Department and attempted to impose bureaucratic order on the creative chaos that typified Mossad’s work.
“The chief is not feeling well this morning. He injured his back again and needs to go to the hospital. He won’t be able to attend the Heads of Intelligence and Security Services meeting with the prime minister and asks that you represent Mossad. Your job is limited to listening and reporting back, is that clear?”
Arik shrugged and hung up without saying good-bye.
Eva returned barefoot and wearing the black evening dress she had worn on the previous evening. In one hand, she held a red jacket, and with the other, she waved a pair of black-lacquered, high heel shoes. Arik’s face was expressionless as he walked her to the garage’s staircase. She followed him without saying a word, as if she were watching his back. Arik activated the alarm system and opened the car door for her. He raced the car outside, just the way he liked it, as the garage door closed behind him.
Arik brooded. He had never participated as the chief representative of Mossad in the Heads of Intelligence and Security Services weekly meeting. The job assigned to him by the head of Mossad—listening and reporting—did not fit well with his personality. As they drove east on the No. 1 Highway toward Jerusalem, it crossed his mind that a polite host should probably indulge his companion with a bit of conversation. “Tell me a bit about yourself, Eva. You’re a doctor of what exactly? What was your thesis about? What are you doing in Israel?”
“I come from the Von-Kesselring family, a German junker family who lost our fortune. My father was a Protestant priest, so I’ve always been drawn to religion. I studied philosophy and theology at the university, my PhD thesis was called Guilt, Compassion, and Forgiveness.”
Another German trying to atone for the crimes of her father or grandfather, thought Arik.
“It’s exactly what you think.” Her candor and perception surprised him. “When in high school, I was exposed to the horrors of the Holocaust. To my great sorrow, I discovered my grandfather was a major in a Waffen-SS unit that operated in France and banished Jews. I’ve always asked myself how such a nice man was able to separate his work and personality so completely.”
“And what exactly were you doing at my party?” asked Arik.
Eva looked at him with concentration, as though trying to read his thoughts. “When I was a student, I came to Israel to volunteer on a kibbutz. I was given adoptive parents—a German-speaking family. We remained in contact even after I returned to Germany, and I still visit them from time to time. Their daughter was the one who brought me. Her husband is abroad, and she was lonely. He has a senior position where you, yourself, work, right?”
“And what business do you have in Jerusalem?” Arik asked without answering.
“I’m a professor of theology and a faculty member of the German philosophy department in the Heidelberg University. I’ve conducted some research regarding Nietzsche and was invited by the Spinoza Center at the Van Leer Institute in Jerusalem to give a lecture series. I start tomorrow and found a nice hotel in the meantime: the American Colony Hotel. Are you familiar with it?”
Arik tensed. That hotel was favored by representatives of human rights organizations and foreign journalists who preferred to stay in the Palestinian eastern part of Jerusalem. Two bothersome thoughts now pecked at his mind: the meeting with the prime minister and the nature of the woman beside him. At least one of them could be dealt with immediately. He pressed the blue button on his cell phone and said, “Office,” with emphasis. The voice recognition software repeated his command and within seconds he heard the voice of Claire, head of his bureau.
“Good morning, Arik. Are you on your way to Jerusalem?”
“Yes, and I’m not alone. I have a guest here, so please speak in codes and abbreviations. I need you to fax me the schedule and subjects to be discussed in today’s meeting. The director of Mossad is not going to attend.”
“Yes, I know,” said Claire. “Talk to me when you can. There’s an urgent personal matter you need to take care of.”
“All right,” Arik answered impatiently. “Send the fax.”
The car printer emitted a feeble bleep and spat out a document with a menorah logo and the headline “Prime Minister Office—Top Secret.” Arik took a brief glance, tore out the page, and shoved it deep into his left jacket pocket.
“I see that you, like most men, like your toys,” said Eva. “You have a motorcycle collection in your house, and your car is equipped with all the latest gadgets. What are all these phones and antennae for? Do you work for the security services?”
“You must have been with a lot of men if you know so much about what most of them like.”
Eva blushed. “Sorry. I’m being terribly nosy this morning,” she said, sounding like a scolded child. “The Israeli mentality must be influencing me.” Silence lay in the car from that moment on, though Eva’s expression indicated her wish to continue the conversation.
When they reached the capital, Arik stopped next to a taxi stand. “You can get a taxi to your hotel from here.”
“I’ll be here for another week. I assume you wouldn’t be interested in coming to the Van Leer Institute to hear a philosophical lecture about guilt, compassion and forgiveness, right?”
Much to his surprise, Arik discovered he wasn’t so sure. Eva attracted him, but he also felt a vague sense of danger he couldn’t put into words. Intelligent women aroused him, and Eva was a highly intelligent woman.
“In other words, will I see you again?” she asked directly.
“I’m a little busy, but don’t worry, I’ll know how to reach you,” he said and sent her the friendliest smile he could muster.
Eva gave him a penetrating stare. “Sounds like a targeted kill,” she said and exited the car.
Arik continued with his drive and caught a glimpse of Eva leaning toward the window of a taxi. The professional expression, “targeted kill,” slipped from her mouth a little too easily. He made a mental note to find out anything he possibly could about his overnight visitor.
Chapter 2
The Weekly Meeting of the Heads of Intelligence and Security Services Forum
The guard sitting in the booth outside the prime minister’s office glanced at the monitor of the computer that automatically identified Arik’s vehicle and raised the gate. Arik passed three more checkpoints
before entering elevator that brought him up to the conference room in the prime minister’s office. The office was ironically nicknamed “The Aquarium” because of the predatory piranhas that regularly swam in its waters.
The chiefs of the security services already sat around the large, round table and greeted him, some smiling, others grimacing with distaste. There was constant professional rivalry between the heads of Mossad and the Division of Military Intelligence at the IDF regarding assessments and analysis of raw intelligence from classified sources. The two organizations were united only by their dislike of the Foreign Ministry Office (whose people sat on the other end of the table) and their determination to hide sensitive information from them for fear of leaks.
The prime minister, a heavyset man who was chronically late, came into the conference room like a whirlwind. His military secretary and a trio of security guards ran right behind his plump buttocks. The prime minister’s facial expression clearly indicated he was preoccupied with other matters. He examined everyone with his little, pale-blue eyes, gave them all half a smirk, and opened with a typically sarcastic remark. “They say the test of intelligence is its ability to create shortcuts. The weekly cabinet meeting is about to start in half an hour, so I want each of you to give me a brief, but thorough overview of what is new. Do not bother to repeat your reports.”
The representatives of the intelligence services reported one after another, and it took just a few minutes for the prime minister to start scolding them for repeating and quoting information he’d already read in the daily intelligence report he received at his farm. The only subject he cared about was Iran and its progress toward achieving nuclear weapons.
“Where’s the director of Mossad?” he spat at Arik.
“I’m sorry, sir. He’s been hospitalized with a herniated disk—”
“I’m sick and tired of your bullshit excuses,” the prime minister interrupted him angrily. “I want results, you hear me? Results!” He hit the table with his large fist and examined Arik with a chilling expression. “What’s new with Ahmadinejad and the elections in Iran? What’s going on with the centrifuges and the underground Fordow nuclear facility? What’s going on with Hezbollah in Lebanon and the threat on our northern border?” His lower lip trembled with anger.
“Sir, with all due respect, may I suggest that the director of Mossad give you a face-to-face report about activities relating to these issues?” Arik tried to appease him in a soft tone that wasn’t very typical of him.
The prime minister looked around the room, and his nose wrinkled in a nervous tick. He turned to his military secretary and spat, “This meeting is a waste of time.”
He rose from his chair. “You,”—he addressed Arik—“you represent the director of Mossad here, right? I want you to report at my office in two hours and give me all those face-to-face details you think I should know.” He finished the sentence with a snort of contempt and raced out of the room, accompanied by his entourage.
Arik left the conference room and retrieved his gun and cell phone from the security officer’s safe. His cell phone showed seven unanswered calls from his sister, Naomi, and three from the office. He called Naomi as soon as he got into his car. “What’s up, sis? What was so urgent you had to call me seven times and didn’t even leave a message!”
The silence on the other end of the line did not bode well. It was apparent she was choosing her words carefully, and that made him very nervous.
“What happened? Is it Mom?” he asked with concern.
“Listen. I love you. You’re the only brother I have. I’ve always respected and appreciated you, but you’re so wrapped up in your own affairs, your divorce, and your trips abroad.”
“If it’s a question of money—”
“Cut it out right now!” she stopped him angrily. “You think you can solve every problem with money and connections? We’re talking about people’s feelings here. You never ask what’s going on with me and Mom!”
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to help,” said Arik, humbled. “Actually, Naomi, I’ve no idea what you expect from me. Tell me what the demands and requirements are, and I’ll try to make the necessary adjustments.”
“Here you go again. Demands, requirements, and adjustments… We’re your family, not a part of some military operation! Where the hell did my big brother disappear to? The one who was so sensitive and caring, who meant more than my mom and dad to me…”
Her outburst shocked him. That was the first time he had ever heard his little sister speak with such rage and authority. He was struck with the realization that something new and intimidating had now entered his life.
“I’m in Jerusalem at the prime minister’s office. I’m willing to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day and come to Haifa to meet you and Mom. Do you have time today?”
“Sorry, I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you for several days. I left messages on your home phone on Saturday. I called you on your cell this morning and also left a message with your secretary—what’s her name? Claire?—I’m going to Geneva for a week. There’s a convention I need to attend. I need you to keep an eye out for Mom. She’s starting to be dangerous to herself. The neighbors keep complaining about her leaving the gas stove on. She can’t really smell it. If there’s a gas leak or a fire, she won’t notice until it’s too late.”
“So where is she now?”
“At home. Her nurse is on vacation today, and the neighbor said that she’ll take care of her—”
“Mom has a nurse?” he interrupted her with amazement.
“Arik, now’s not the time to bicker, but there are a lot of other things you just don’t seem to remember. I’m not even sure you remember what I’ve told you about your own children, but we’ll talk about that another time.”
Arik fell silent, and Naomi continued, she almost sounded pleading. “Would you come to be with Mom so I can travel with a clear mind?”
“All right, now I finally get it. I’m a little slow. Sometimes I just don’t get it when people talk too fast.” He tried to make her laugh. “You go to Geneva and enjoy yourself, and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be leaving for Haifa right now. Be available on your cell phone, and I’ll keep you posted, all right?” he said.
“All right, and if the door to Mom’s apartment is locked, there’s a key at my place. It’s hanging behind the front door. I need to go; they’re calling us to board the plane.”
“Good-bye. Have fun at the conference.” Naomi hung up before he finished speaking. Arik then hurried to call Claire, “What was so important you couldn’t wait telling me about?” he asked without greeting her.
“You hung up on me.”
“All right, don’t make a fuss. Now’s not the time to educate me. What’s it about?”
“You’re not going to like it, but the Haifa Police called a few minutes before you reached Jerusalem. They’ve found an old woman wandering the streets of the Nesher neighborhood. She was pretty confused and spoke to them in broken Yiddish. The cops said she was wearing a chained tag engraved with two phone numbers: yours and your sister’s. They couldn’t reach your sister, and they’ve been calling you since morning.”
“Tell me, have you lost your fucking mind?” Arik erupted. “Now you’re telling me all that?”
“You should be ashamed of yourself! You’re the one who kept interrupting me—”
“Well, you should have told me.”
“Should have told you what? You wouldn’t listen. You were too busy thinking about covering for the director and meeting the prime minister. I tried to reach your sister, but I understand she’s abroad.”
“You should have insisted. You shouldn’t have given up,” he screamed. “You completely fucked up!”
The sound of weeping immediately followed on the other line, and Arik hung up. He hated tears because they forced him to seal the tiniest cracks in his protective emotional armor. This phone call,
added to the previous one with Naomi, threatened to infiltrate that famous armor of his. The surprising ease with which his emotional balance had been compromised both surprised and concerned him. Was he becoming soft in his old age?
A call came in on his secure line. The nasal voice of Dr. Alex Abramovich, head of the office’s Intelligence and Research Division rose from the speaker.
“Have you heard the latest news about the chief? He’s about to be promoted to become the Israeli Ambassador in the United Nations Office at Geneva. It looks like they’re going to replace him with Major General Ben-Ami Cornfield, the prime minister’s watchdog.”
“Cornfield is going to be the new chief? Isn’t he considered a has-been? He’s a disabled veteran who had a car accident recently and can barely even walk with a cane.”
“He’s alive and kicking.” Alex chuckled and continued in a more serious tone. “Which is bad news for all of us. Do you know what they used to call him back when he became the head of operations for the General Security Services? The Butcher! He’s a sort of a sadist who’s addicted to action. All he cares about is getting the job done, no matter how many casualties it takes.”
“As usual, you’re grossly exaggerating,” Arik chided. “It’s true that Cornfield has a reputation for having no patience for details and for being one who cuts straight to the chase, but still—”
“Don’t be childish; it’s the classic case of putting the wrong man in the wrong place. They didn’t allow Cornfield to become Chief of Staff because they were afraid of him. Now they’re going to appoint him Director of Mossad as compensation. Don’t forget: he’s more dangerous in this new position. He’s going to operate from an environment that involves lots of money and power. That nurtures dictatorial and predatory qualities, especially with those already inclined to act that way. Add the fact that most of his moves are going to be covert and veiled by censorship, and you’ll reach the same conclusion I have: all we can do is greet the master of the new world we’ll all need to live in from now on.”
To Kill a Shadow Page 2