“Yes.”
“Are you afraid of dogs?”
Arik wasn’t used to being in the company of dogs but still preferred to give Mariam a negative answer.
She opened the door, dressed in a close-fitting silk robe that complimented the curves of her body. Three giant Dogue de Bordeaux dogs drooled and exposed their fangs at him. Mariam uttered a command in Persian, and the dogs immediately dropped to the floor submissively.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” she demanded. Arik saw a shadow passing behind one of the doors. Mariam noticed his stare. “A bodyguard,” she explained.
“I came the moment I heard about your brother. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She took his hand and led him to a large guest room whose floor was covered with soft carpets. Sofas stood across the walls, and an ornate cabinet was placed in the corner of the room. Mariam opened it and exposed a modest liquor cabinet. “Bourbon?” she pointed at a Jack Daniels bottle.
“Bourbon,” Arik agreed. “How did it happen?”
“Like it always happens. Someone ratted him out.” She blinked to fight the welling tears. “I’ve already lost my husband…ex-husband, actually, and now my brother. I’m fortunate not to have any children. Do you have children?”
“Two.”
“A wife?”
“I used to. She left me.”
Mariam sat on one of the sofas. “Are you angry at her?” Her voice softened.
“No, I was the one to blame. I had an affair. I started being angry only when she began using the children to get even with me.”
“You can understand her, can’t you? She was hurt by your betrayal. You strike the enemy where it hurts him the most, don’t you?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Arik said. He felt a strong desire to avoid what he considered to be an overly intimate conversation, but Mariam was his most important trump card in the poker game against Iran and his most important accomplishment in quite some time, along with the Azerbaijan military bases Israel was leasing.
“Yes, I guess that’s normally the case,” he said bluntly, about to get up and leave.
Mariam had other plans. She went to the bar and refilled her glass. It was apparent it wasn’t her second drink of the evening.
“Is there a woman in your life?”
“No one serious,” he said decisively and immediately realized he was lying. Whether he wanted it or not, Eva had become a significant figure in his life.
She took his glass, intending to refill it with bourbon, but Arik raised his hand to stop her. “I really must be going. I need to get back to the hotel and prepare for the flight back home.”
“I don’t want to stay here by myself tonight. Why don’t you stay? Don’t worry; I’m not going to eat you.” She pushed a few buttons inside the bar. Bossa nova music filled the room. Mariam kicked off her slippers and began to dance. The atmosphere of mourning immediately lifted.
“Don’t look at me like that. Tonight, I’m honoring my brother, Massoud, hung by the bastards from a crane right in the middle of Tabriz. He was a man of the world. An atheist who knew how to live and drink, and I’m drinking in his honor just as the Irish drink and eat for their dead. A wake. That’s what they call it, right?” She approached him and took his hand, trying to draw him into the dance. “Come, Arik! Let us celebrate the death of this great man.”
The bourbon finally got the better of her, and she collapsed on the sofa, pulling him after her. Without any warning, she stretched out her hand and skillfully unzipped his pants, while passionately seeking his lips with hers. Arik resisted.
She was beautiful, and in her drunkenness, the tough and distant expression had been wiped out of her face. Her eyes pleaded him, but he had no intention of sleeping with her. He was on a mission.
The dogs had heard her cry came running, and looked at their mistress curiously. Arik got up and whispered, “Good night, Mariam.”
He slipped to the door, bracing himself for a possible encounter with Mariam’s bodyguards, but none of them showed up. Next to the front door, he saw a small restroom. He went inside, carefully washed his hands, zipped his pants and left.
The dogs followed him to the door, which closed after him with a click and automatically locked. He flagged a taxi that happened to pass in the cold street and returned to his hotel on the other side of the city.
Chapter 33
Special Operations Approval Meeting—Mossad Headquarters
Arik sat at the head of the table, trying to concentrate on the words of those surrounding him and, as usual, looking for a comfortable posture that wouldn’t hurt his injured shoulder. The cold, air-conditioned air in the room awoke his injury pains, but he didn’t ask to raise the temperatures so as not to make the other people in the room uncomfortable.
The internal phone suddenly buzzed. “I asked not to be disturbed!” he angrily whispered to Claire through the receiver.
“Don’t yell at me! Alex is outside and asked that you come out and see him for a minute. Should I tell him to leave?”
Arik went out, not knowing at whom he should direct his anger. “What’s so urgent, Alex? I’m in the middle of an SPA meeting.”
“This is,” said Alex and pushed a white envelope into Arik’s hand. The words, “To General Arik Bar-Nathan—personal,” were ornately written in French on the envelope.
“Was it checked?” asked Arik before tearing the sealed flap.
“While it was still in Paris. It was handed to Ruth the Moabitess’ operator this morning at our embassy station. He sent it to me by diplomatic mail with a special courier.”
Arik took a folded page from inside the envelope, opened it, and read its contents. Alex stood a short distance from him, his face flushed with curiosity. Arik handed him the page. The photo of a dark-haired man with a Caucasian visage stared from it in addition to a short letter.
Ruslan Akhmatov. Russian nationality. Chechen origins. Look for him in your own backyard. This is the man who has been trying to kill you. He was sent by the Hezbollah. He has a highly personal interest. You probably know what it is. Take care of yourself!
Mariam.
“We need to update Cornfield. You urgently need to get the personal protection unit involved.”
Arik folded the document and placed it in the back pocket of his jeans. “We’ll deal with this later. Right now, I’m in the middle of an operations approval meeting. Cornfield has a work meeting with the prime minister later this week and asked for my operative recommendations for actions against the Syrian plutogenic project.”
“I’ll summon an urgent meeting with Cornfield and the chief security officer.”
“Thank you, Alex. You’re a true friend,” Arik said and hurried to get back to the meeting.
An hour and a half later, Cornfield’s secretary called and asked Arik to come to an urgent meeting at the director’s office. When he went inside, he saw that Alex and the redheaded chief security officer were already present.
Cornfield regarded him with his single eye, as sullen as ever. He reached inside his desk drawer, took out his whiskey bottle, and sent Arik a questioning look. Arik shook his head. Alex refused as well, and the chief security officer didn’t even get an offer. Cornfield sighed, poured himself half a glass and tossed his head back to swallow it in a single gulp along with two pain killers he’d rescued from an aluminum tray. “My diabetes is always making me thirsty. Why is it suddenly so urgent to discuss a personal bodyguard for you?” he barked. “The prime minister is busting my balls every day. He wants to hear what we’re doing to stop the Iranian-Syrian nuclear program, and you’re wasting my time with this nonsense?”
Arik shrugged and said, “If you don’t want to give me personal bodyguard, so be it. I’ll manage on my own.”
“Sir,” the chief security officer tried, “with all due respect, we’re not talking nonsense here. We’ve received information that includes the name and photo of the person who had tried to ass
assinate our Caesarea chief.”
“What makes you think such an assassin exists?” Cornfield gave a derisive snort.
Arik couldn’t control his temper anymore and shouted at Cornfield. “After everything I’ve been through, you still have doubts?”
Cornfield looked at him with mocking eyes. “Let’s talk about what you’ve been through,” he said, a sarcastic smile stretched on his lips. “First there was a shooting, supposedly aimed at your vehicle, at the entrance to the office along with a fire in a field of thorns. We’ve looked for the saboteur but couldn’t find any trace of him, just some tire marks in a nearby orchard. The counterintelligence department couldn’t report a group or an organization involved. One can only assume it was a single terrorist who had managed to escape, or perhaps a jealous husband? Am I right so far, Mr. Security Officer?”
The security officer nodded with embarrassment. “The police and General Security Service reports aren’t conclusive,” he admitted. “Empty vodka bottles were found in the bushes….”
“Muslim terrorists do not drink vodka…right? The second time, you told us someone had tried to run you over in Jerusalem, right? You’ve managed to escape unscathed thanks to an unidentified woman who appeared out of nowhere in a white vehicle. That is what you yourself reported. I can only assume the driver was the same jealous husband, and the unidentified woman was simply his wife who wanted to stop him. Am I right?”
“You’re wrong,” Arik spat, but Cornfield ignored him and continued.
“And the third time, you were shot on the Temple Mount right in the middle of a secret visit of the president of Azerbaijan. In the report, you yourself wrote, the weapon located at the scene was a ceramic gun manufactured for the exclusive use of Russian KGB assassins. Who knows? Maybe they were trying to assassinate President Nur Sultan and kill three birds with one stone: embarrassing us, finishing him off, and taking over his country.”
“I sorry, sir,” said Alex, not trying to hide his anger. “The name and the photo of the assassin we received this morning from Paris specifically indicate he is Ruslan Akhmatov, son of the Chechen Mafia boss who was killed during our failed operation in South America. Perhaps he has a personal score to settle with Arik, who was in charge of the operation. Akhmatov is known as a hired assassin who sometimes works for the Federal Russian security forces. He also has a long criminal record.”
“And who, exactly, gave you this information?” Cornfield mockingly asked.
Arik and Alex exchanged glances. Since Mossad had been founded, the customary procedure was never to expose names or true identities of sources, even to the director, unless unusual circumstances demanded it.
Alex said, “I can’t give you the source’s real name. The code name is Ruth the Moabitess, and their information is credible.”
“Really? And how many such alerts for possible hostile terrorist activities do you receive every day Dr. Alex?” asked Cornfield.
“Few of them are as credible as this information,” Alex determined.
Cornfield silenced him with a flick of his hand. “You research and intelligence analysts always try to force the facts to fit with your anonymous tips and alerts so you can cover your ass just in case something really happens. Once more, I demand to know who gave you such detailed information that includes the name and photo of your would-be assassin?”
“We’ve already told you. Ruth the Moabitess,” answered Arik.
“And that’s your prostitute’s fee for fucking her in Paris last week?” Cornfield exulted.
“I never fucked her.” Arik looked Cornfield straight in the eye.
“In our code of ethics, fisting is also considered screwing. When an operator and an agent screw, we’re talking about a serious violation of our ethical code, aren’t we?”
Arik fell silent.
“You’d be surprised,” Cornfield said. “We have ears everywhere. Cameras too.”
Outside, on the way back to his office, Alex caught up with Arik. “Do you understand what’s going on here?” he asked.
“Of course I understand. Mossad’s Director is appointing agents to follow other senior members of Mossad. That’s legal only if there’s evidence or grounds for reasonable suspicion. That’s why he’s trying to frame me and prove that I have supposedly had an affair with an agent. I’m not worried. The law in on my side.”
“What law?” Alex placed his hand on Arik’s arm. “In case you haven’t noticed, right now, Cornfield is the law in here.”
Chapter 34
Beehive on the Cliff Neighborhood in the Palmachim Air Force Base
Arik was in a pensive mood as he drove down the roads of the vast military base. An uncomfortable feeling had plagued him all the way from Mossad Headquarters in Tel Aviv. Yet again, he thought he should have left Mossad the moment Cornfield stepped into office. His house at the Beehive on the Cliff neighborhood was dark. He threw the car keys on the kitchen table, went to the porch, and thoughtfully looked at the darkened sea. Long moments later, he went back inside the house, picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number. After pressing the final digit, he changed his mind and hung up. He poured himself a glass of Armagnac and sat on the sofa. After minutes of sitting and musing, he redialed.
Nathalie didn’t answer and her voicemail wasn’t active.
He tried another number. His brother-in-law answered the call. “Ilush’ka,” Arik called fondly. “How are you?”
Life was always simple and full of promise with Ilush’ka. He was a relentless optimist, and Arik sometimes envied him. “It’s all good. Peaches.” His brother-in-law summed up his state of mind. “How about you?”
“Everything’s complicated, as usual. I need to speak with Naomi. She’ll tell you about it later.”
“She’s out for her dance class. This is how we are. She’s light-footed, and I’m overweight. An excellent recipe for a happy marriage.” He laughed.
Arik was too tired for small talk. “Please ask Naomi to call me back.”
Nathalie’s approaching wedding awoke a bothersome sense of gloominess in him. He felt guilty for not being able to establish a fatherly relationship with his daughter. Once again, he wondered where he had gone wrong and what he could have done to prevent his mistakes. He suddenly felt a need to talk to someone who knew both Nathalie and him. Naomi, perhaps?
But Naomi wasn’t available.
He looked for his ex-wife’s phone number in his phone book. She answered after a few rings and her voice became aggressive as she recognized him. “What do you want?”
“To talk. I didn’t call to argue. I assume you know about the wedding.”
She chuckled. “Now you remember? The invitations were sent over two weeks ago. Where have you been for the past month? Hold on. I forgot. You probably went on another screwing trip abroad at the taxpayer’s expense.”
“I called to have a constructive conversation about Nathalie, our daughter, and about the wedding. Do you think we could please have this conversation without insulting each other?” he asked softly, overcoming the anger caused by her teasing.
“Oh please, let’s have a constructive conversation about the pile of shit you’ve left me in. You’ve abandoned your wife and your children, claiming ‘the security of the state of Israel,’ no less, to justify your egotistical actions and disappearance. My therapist says you have an infantile and egocentric personality, a man constantly busy with satisfying his own needs, entirely insensitive to his surroundings. You’re a son of a bitch. A scumbag! Don’t ever call me again!” she screamed and slammed the phone down.
Arik felt weak and humiliated when he called Eva.
“Hello, my beloved man.” She immediately wrapped him with kind words that always embarrassed him. “What’s up? Are you excited about the wedding yet? I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to talk to you about it yet. How do you Jewish people say it? Mazel tof!”
“Mazal tov,” Arik corrected her and explained the expression’s meaning to h
er. Then he asked if she’d like to go to the wedding with him.
“Are you sure you’d like me to come with you to a place where your ex-wife and your entire family are going to be? With your family’s Holocaust history, do you think they’d be comfortable with you dating a German woman?”
“Yes,” said Arik. “I need you here. Now. Beside me.”
“Have you finally decided to give yourself to me?” she asked half-jokingly.
“Let’s leave that for now,” said Arik. The next sentence simply slipped from his mouth. “I’ve no one else…”
She was silent.
“Eva?”
“Let me finish with a few things here, and I’ll let you know if I’ll be coming or not. Sorry, but I can’t make any promises. It’s the end of the semester, and I have a lot of exams and papers to check. I’m committed to my students, you know.”
“But it’s right next to you. The wedding is on Tuesday in Jerusalem.”
“All right. What about after the wedding? Will you spend the night?”
The sense of loneliness disappeared at once. Fear of commitment clutched at Arik again. “We’ll see.”
“A moment ago, you said you have no one else. Now you’re avoiding me again,” she said without anger or resentment, merely stating a fact.
“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just taking it slowly.” A call came in on the other line. “I have to go. Kisses and… Yes, I’ll spend the night.”
“Wait a minute, what do I bring to a Jewish wedding? Is there a gift list somewhere?”
“Just bring yourself.” Arik laughed and answered the other call. It was Naomi.
“I just spoke with Rachel,” she said without introductions. “She’s sorry for losing control. She just can’t handle talking to you. She was also shocked to hear of Nathalie’s wedding.”
“Oh, well. I couldn’t care less about her. She can call me back whenever she feels she can handle it.”
“Arik! Enough!” Naomi scolded him.
“Does she have any idea where Michael is?” He cut her off.
To Kill a Shadow Page 17