“But how can the prime minister appoint an outsider? A man who didn’t grow up within Mossad is going to have a very hard time taking initiatives without being familiar with the system and the way it works. He’ll also need to approve operations suggested by the lower levels; operations he doesn’t even imagine are possible. He has no idea the unique methods of operation we’ve developed here over the years. There are things that would seem unreasonable or improbable to an outsider,” Arik muttered.
“Don’t forget, people from outside the system have been appointed before,” Alex reminded him.
“Only during times in which we’ve experienced a crisis of confidence. Bottom line, this position is all about mutual trust between the prime minister and the director of Mossad. Bringing in a character like Cornfield will only create unnecessary chaos and bring down the morale of employees all across the chain of command.”
“You’ve worked with him before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” Arik sighed. “I’ve worked with him when I was a Naval-Commando Company Commander, and he was Chief of Operations for the Israeli Defense Forces General Staff.”
“So you know what I’m talking about. Who knows, he might appoint you as his second!” Alex burst into laughter and hung up.
Arik felt a terrible tiredness weighing his body. There was a lot of bad blood between him and Cornfield. He knew working with him was going to be an ongoing nightmare. Arik also felt the influence of his sister’s emotional blackmail. He kept seeing an image of his elderly mother wandering the city streets aimlessly. Arik’s mind raced. He knew he must talk to the Haifa Chief of Police and get details about what had happened to his mother, but before that, he needed to speak with Claire and apologize for his outburst.
Arik said, “Office,” again, and the phone dialed the number for him. Claire picked up the phone.
“What do you want now?”
“To apologize for being an idiot. I’m going through a lot of things I need to think about right now, and I need you to be on my side. All right?”
Silence.
“I need three things.” He interpreted her silence as consent. “First of all, I need you to arrange a conference call with the Haifa Chief of Police. Second, I need you to cancel all my appointments for today and tomorrow. And finally, I need a vacation; I need some time to think about a few things and take care of personal stuff. Please let the director’s office know.”
“Be available!” said Clair in a commanding tone.
Chapter 3
Ben-Gurion Airport—Arrivals Hall
The Transaero flight from Moscow landed at the Ben-Gurion Airport. Businessmen turned on their cell phones as soon as the airplane had touched the ground, and a few elderly nuns and a flock of grim-faced priests stepped down the gate sleeve. The few Israeli tourists among them pushed their way through, wanting to be first to the passport booths. Ruslan moved closer to the wall to let them pass. A conflict with an Israeli was the last thing he needed at that point of time.
At the passport booth, he handed the police officer his Russian passport and immediately pulled his hands from the counter. She gave him the usual, brief glance, which lingered as she examined his flat features; slanted eyes; long, black robe; the black velvet hat on his head; and the large, silver crucifix that adorned his chest.
“Sir, what’s the purpose of your visit in Israel?” she asked in fluent Russian.
“I’m a neophyte. I came to the Holy Land to study at the Russian Orthodox College in Jerusalem.”
“Do you have a student visa and admission documents from the school?” asked the police officer.
She examined him again and typed his name into the computer. The biometric examination conducted by the camera hidden above matched the details of the photo in the passport. A comparison with the Interpol database had yielded no results as well. Still, the young border police officer hesitated.
“I have an invitation letter from the Archimandrite Tihon Pavel Gremidar, head of the Russian Orthodox Mission in the Holy Land,” said the young priest with a bashful smile and lowered eyes.
The police officer looked at the document that carried the official seal of the Israeli Consul in Moscow, and stamped Ruslan’s passport with a student visa for a full year.
Ruslan silently passed his colleagues, avoiding their attempts to make conversation. He took an old-fashioned hand-carry suitcase from the baggage conveyor belt and went out to the passenger reception hall where his eyes wandered until they found the public restroom sign. He entered one of the booths and came out dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
He exited the Terminal and headed to the Public transport stations.
“Daniel Hotel in Herzliya,” he said to the taxi driver in English.
“Tourist?” asked the driver.
“No. Scientist.”
Ruslan kept silent all the way to the hotel, much to the dismay of the driver who was eager for an opportunity to detail his thoughts and opinions about the political and security situation in Israel and share his life-changing decision to stop hitting on Israeli girls because only European girls were in his league.
Ruslan entered the hotel lobby, filled out the guest registration forms, presented his passport, and received a keycard for the room he’d reserved.
The receptionist examined him. “Ruskie?” he asked.
Ruslan answered with a noncommittal murmur.
The receptionist, who insisted on being friendly, added in Russian, “A little something to eat? Our room service closes in fifteen minutes.”
“No, thank you,” Ruslan answered curtly and turned to the elevator.
Ruslan, eldest son of the late Ramzan Akhmatov, had arrived from Chechnya to perform a duty and fulfill a destiny.
Chapter 4
Highway 1—West of Jerusalem
The drive to the Judean foothills was long and tedious. Arik silently cursed drivers who ran traffic lights or cut him off.
His cell phone rang, and he slammed the button to answer.
“I’m conferencing you with Police Commander Solomon Toby, Chief of the Haifa Precinct,” Claire let him know in a frosty voice. “Patching through!”
“Hello, Commander Toby. This is Arik Bar-Nathan from the prime minister’s office. I understand you have a Yiddish-speaking elderly lady who’s a little confused at your station? I was happy to hear your vigilant police officers recognized the fact she was wearing a nametag with my details on it.”
“Excuse me, but who are you, and how are you related to her?” asked the police chief suspiciously.
“I’m her son, and I’m a little worried.”
“I am sorry, but she’s no longer here. She was sent to the hospital by ambulance about an hour ago,” said Toby sympathetically.
“Could you please tell me more about the circumstances?”
“Of course.” Toby began to read. “Mrs. Ethel Rechtman was found wandering in the Nesher Central Bus Station, muttering to herself in an unintelligible language. A patrol car that had been called by passersby was unable to ascertain her identity, as she didn’t carry any identification papers. When a patrol officer approached her, the lady started screaming, ‘Nazis! Nazis!’ and ran away until she got tired, sat on a bench and allowed the patrol woman officer to approach her. At first, the officer thought she was mentally disabled and suspected she had escaped from the nearby psychiatric hospital. Then the officer noticed a gold medallion hung around her neck, engraved with the names Arik and Naomi as well as their phone numbers and the lady’s blood type. The officer called Naomi, who didn’t answer. Next she called Arik next and was answered by his secretary, who was given the details of the incident event and told the officer she would take care of it.” Toby finished and took a deep breath.
“Thank you commander. I’ll be taking care of everything. I’m on my way to Haifa right now.”
“Good luck!” said Toby.
Arik hung up and keyed up the voice recognition once more. “Offic
e.”
Claire answered. “Your schedule is clear for the next two days,” she said before he could even ask. “They’re worried about you here, so I said you were going on a two day vacation. Everyone is rooting for you and jealous at the same time. By the way, I heard you’ve found yourself a German bombshell at your birthday party. Good for you. Have fun.”
“Thank you, Claire. It was an amazing surprise party. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for organizing it,” said Arik, who suddenly remembered he hadn’t even bothered to thank her.
Claire muttered something and hung up.
The traffic dwindled out after the Sha’ar Hagai interchange, and Arik made good use of his 3,500CC BMW engine. He put the flashing red and blue police strobe up on the vehicle’s roof to prevent unnecessary hassles from the national traffic police and looked at the speedometer needle, which leapt all the way to 100 mph. After that, his driving became instinctive, and his mind was overtaken by doleful childhood memories.
In one of the alleyways of the Talpiyot Municipal Market in Haifa there was a small greengrocer shop where his parents had worked for their living from dawn to dusk. The shop had served as their refuge from all the memories and traumas of the Holocaust. Taking care of merchandise, sales, and customers, along with the busy routine of daily labor, suppressed the painful recollections of two brokenhearted people who had both lost their first families, including spouses and children. At the end of each tiring day, they dropped on the sofa in their little dump of a flat under the Ottoman Bridge, turned on the radio, and listened to The Voice of Israel in Yiddish. It was a radio show they religiously listened to, intended to help Holocaust survivors reunite with their lost family members, refugees who wandered abroad, or those who had never managed to reached Israel.
Arik and his sister Naomi were substitute children. They filled the place of their parents’ beloved first children, born from a previous marriage of love and happiness in another era. People who had been annihilated in the Holocaust. As substitute children, they lived in a suffocating atmosphere in an overprotective house. They grew up under the shadow of terrible memories and had to deal with constant emotional blackmail that expressed itself in their responsibility never to become sick, injured, or (God forbid) die. In addition, Arik needed to be responsible both for himself and his sister who was three years his junior. He wasn’t expressly requested to do so, but he realized his parents expected him to act that way. Arik was charged with bringing his little sister back home from kindergarten or school, feeding both her and himself, washing the dishes, and taking care of the house.
The coming meeting with his aging mother made Arik shudder. He and his sister weren’t closely familiar with the ravages of old age. There weren’t many elderly people left around them during their childhood, as most of their extended family members had been murdered in the Holocaust. Their father passed away when Arik was thirty-eight and too busy to care for his mother. His sister, Naomi, was the one who had assumed that responsibility. She stepped into the shoes of being her mother’s caretaker, taking her to see doctors, doing all her grocery shopping for her, and renting out the apartments their parents had bought as an investment. His mother, a very active woman by nature, used all the spare time she suddenly had to volunteer in various organizations and feverishly cook for Friday night meals to which she’d invite her children and their families. He couldn’t understand how that vital woman had turned into the confused old lady the police had found at the Nesher Central Bus Station. And she had a nurse! When did that happen?
After arriving at the hospital, Arik strode into the Emergency Room and immediately looked for the doctor in charge. In front of the entrance door, he saw an information desk with two receptionists. A long line of people stretched from the window, all of them waving forms and paperwork impatiently. Arik walked past them straight into the emergency ward. He strode past gray curtains and glanced at the beds behind them. His mother wasn’t there. A male nurse wearing a green robe instructed him to get out and added, “Or I’ll call security.”
Arik nervously replied, “I am security, and I’d like to speak with the person in charge.”
A young doctor in the final weeks of her pregnancy popped out of nowhere and approached him. “Hello, my name is Dr. Orly Sharon. Can I help you? You seem a little lost.”
“Yes, thank you.” Arik lowered his voice. His anger suddenly subsided and was replaced with horror. He recalled he was supposed to personally report to the prime minister in Jerusalem at that very moment.
Chapter 5
The Coastal Highway—On the Way to Palmachim Air Base
The highway was jammed with traffic in spite of the late hour. The image of his mother lying in a hospital bed and mumbling to herself refused to leave his mind. He drove nervously, almost wildly. His thoughts kept wandering back to the things his sister had told him that morning, especially to one sentence: “I’m not even sure you remember what I’ve told you about your own children.” Mixed feelings he wasn’t familiar with swirled in his mind along with existential thoughts about the meaning of life and family. He felt deeply ashamed for the fact he couldn’t recall the last time he had spoken with his children.
His son, Michael, was in India, and he didn’t really know how to contact him, but Nathalie was in Jerusalem. Arik sent a hand to his phone, hesitated, then changed his mind. Before he called his daughter, he needed to speak with someone who understood more about such matters. He dialed Claire’s cell phone number and was answered with a businesslike, “Yes?”
“Please forgive me again for being so aggressive this morning. I have a lot of things on my mind. My mom’s in the hospital.”
“So, as usual, I need to serve as your lightning rod until the storm passes.”
Arik ignored her sarcastic remark. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“That depends. How personal?”
“It’s about my girl. You’ve raised two wonderful daughters. Tell me, why am I such a failure as a father? Why can’t I have a decent relationship with my children? I want to make it right before it’s too late.”
Claire was silent, surprised by his candor.
“I have no one else to talk about it with,” explained Arik and continued to unburden his heart. “Nathalie and Michael grew up with Rachel my ex-wife, and she’s poisoned them against me.”
“You gave her every possible reason to do that.”
“To her, maybe, but never to the children. They’re all grown up, and they need to understand. Anyway, Michael ran away to some ashram in India, and Nathalie just keeps avoiding me. Tell me, what have I ever done to deserve this?”
“Arik, you should be the first to know everything in this life is a matter of perspective. The only question is what kind of story you choose to tell to yourself.”
“I’m not buying this cliché. The truth is not a story; it is based on facts. What actually happened is the only question one should ask himself.”
“Try telling yourself the story of your divorce from Rachel’s and from your children’s perspective.”
“What does it have to do with them? It doesn’t concern them, and they’re not a part of it. Their mom and dad didn’t get along and got divorced. End of story. Then their mother poisoned their minds, and they ended up inventing a twisted story under her influence!” Arik said heatedly.
“It’s not necessarily like that,” said Claire softly. “But I don’t think I’ll convince you. By the way, you’ve never told me what Nathalie is doing.”
“She’s a student at Hebrew University.” said Arik. Pride mixed with his words, but he added bitterly, “She’s studying psychology and already uses all the professional lingo to explain how I’ve abandoned her when she needed me most as a teenager. She accuses me of being unfaithful to her mother. She hates me and avoids speaking to me. But that doesn’t prevent her from regularly demanding money, giving me shopping lists, and asking for gifts from abroad.”
Claire sighed. “That’s o
nly to be expected. Don’t you get it? She’s punishing you.”
“As it happens, I do get it! She’s not even trying to hide it.”
“Arik, what exactly do you need from me?” Claire asked in a sympathetic voice.
“I don’t know, but I was hoping you’d give me some sort of a possible way out. Some good advice, a key, something. Anything. I’m looking for a way to get closer to my kids and to make amends. When it comes to these matters you are much better than me.”
“Can you get Michael on the phone?” she interrupted, as efficient as always.
“No. I think he has a cell phone, but he never gave me the number. And his mom… You know.”
“What about Nathalie?”
“I don’t have her cell number—just the phone number in the dorms.”
“Call her.”
“What should I tell her?”
“Just tell her how you feel. Let yourself be off-duty for once, and set the inner Arik free. Be the sensitive dad and loving person you are when you allow it.”
Call her dorm room? Arik was pretty certain she would slam the phone as soon as she heard his voice. Best case scenario, she’d conduct a polite conversation with him then give him a full report about all the things she needed him to buy for her and how much money she needed to deposit in her bank account.”
“You still there?”
“Yeah, I was just thinking. Thanks, Claire. You know I love you, right?”
“Flattery will get you everywhere. See you after the vacation.” She hung up with a smile, and Arik knew she was no longer angry about the morning incident.
Arik went over the list of contacts in the cell phone placed on his knee. A passing vehicle honked when his car drifted across the lane, and he swerved back. Then he tapped his daughter’s phone number, guessing no one would answer; she was supposed to be in class that time of day.
To Kill a Shadow Page 3