The Marsh Angel

by Hagai Dagan

  The deputy director nodded. Now, let’s hear from representatives of collection units who’ll tell us what they know at this point, he said. 8200, you’re first.

  Moti cleared his throat, and opened by describing the e/c relayed to the Syrian intelligence factor in Lebanon. The deputy director asked who exactly the e/c was relayed to. Moti cleared his throat again and replied that that was unclear at the moment. Tamir immediately realized it would have been sensible to pursue the matter further with Department 193 that deals with Syria, but he did not do that. The deputy director turned to the head of the Lebanon Branch and asked which factors were using Zavod boats. The branch-head quickly leafed through his papers and said, feigning an authoritative voice, that there are several factors in Lebanon which could in principal be working with Russian equipment.

  That’s all you have to say on the matter? the deputy director wondered.

  The branch-head briskly turned around and exchanged a few hushed words with his assistant. Turning back to the table, he said that organizations with close ties to Syria like al-Sa‘iqa and Front/Jibril who also have seaborne units are good potential candidates, since the Syrian army relies on Russian equipment.

  I didn’t ask what you think, I asked what you know, the deputy director reprimanded him.

  Tamir leaned in towards Moti and tried to whisper what he knew into his ear. Moti nodded promptly, but his bemused face revealed he didn’t understand what Tamir said. He cleared his throat again.

  Yes, 8200, do you have anything to add? the deputy director asked.

  The Front’s seaborne unit has Zavod boats, Moti said.

  And you know this for certain?

  Uh… Yes.

  How many exactly?

  Uh…

  That you don’t know?

  We, uh… Moti squirmed. Tamir, he said, you want to maybe…

  Tamir raised his head from his binder. We know from the seaborne-unit station’s communications over the past five years that the Front’s seaborne unit is in possession of five Zavod boats and three additional Zodiac boats, he said in a quiet but assertive voice. We haven’t picked up any communications on the subject recently, and in general, there hasn’t been any unusual activity going on in the seaborne unit’s station. We have no concrete information about other organizations in possession of Zavod boats. al-Sa‘iqa have a small seaborne unit, but we don’t know if they possess any Zavod boats. All we know about is their diving training around Tyre, but even that information is several years old. So, it is fully plausible that the Zavod engines were indeed sent to the Front’s seaborn unit, located in Tripoli, but that assumption should be qualified in light of there being no unusual activity in their station recently.

  Who is this? the deputy director asked Moti.

  This is Tamir Binder, sir. Head of the Jibril unit in the department.

  Very nice, the deputy director nodded his head, good answer, Tamir Binder. The picture is a bit clearer now. Tamir bowed his head slightly. He suddenly noticed his heart was pounding through his chest.

  Mossad, anything to add? the deputy director turned to the other side of the table.

  The Mossad representative, a portly man in a brown plaid shirt whose gray briefcase rested on the table in front of him, mentioned the dispatch from Raspberry. The deputy director asked if they have any insights regarding the dispatch. The representative replied that in regards to the Front, it is most likely to assume that the new friends are rival and/or pro-Syrian Palestinian organizations, like Fatah/Abu Musa.

  So, you think this could be an operational collaboration with another Palestinian organization?

  It’s an option, the Mossad representative said.

  Tamir twisted in discomfort in his seat.

  Is something bothering you, Binder? the deputy director boomed at him.

  Tamir cleared his throat. I don’t think they would refer to these organizations as new friends. They have collaborated pretty much since their inception. They’re old friends, not new.

  Fair enough, said the deputy director. And what about this source, Raspberry? he turned back to the Mossad representative who had slightly shrunk in stature following Tamir’s comment. It’s new, isn’t it? Can you tell us something about its credibility?

  Its credibility is relatively high, but since— as you rightly said— it’s a new source, this is not a final evaluation.

  NID, do you have anything to contribute? asked the deputy director.

  The NID representative outlined some technical details about Zavod engines and their operational capabilities. He said that if the engines in question were indeed the new models, then they would be capable of swiftly and quietly landing on the Israeli shore from a nearby launching point, such as Naqoura.

  The deputy director made a note to himself and asked if anyone would like to add something at this point. No one said a thing. Tamir sat anxiously at the edge of his seat. He had already spoken too much. He had upstaged Moti, and it would be foolish of him to speak again. But on the other hand, he still had somethings to say. Finally, he pulled a page out of his binder, flipped it over, a hastily scribbled something on its back. He passed the page to Moti, but the latter struggled to read Tamir illegible handwriting.

  Do you have anything to add, Tamir Binder? asked the deputy director, who had caught wind of their interaction.

  Tamir looked at him. I may be out of order here…

  Speak, speak! the deputy director enjoined him.

  It’s true that allies could mean Palestinian organizations close to the Front, he said, but we should keep in mind the dispatch from the Saudi embassy about the increased collaboration between Iran and Palestinian operational factors. In that context, the allies could also be the Iranians.

  Yes, I think so too, the deputy director said in a pensive voice. Okay, in summary, what we know at this stage is that some organization, most likely Front/Jibril, is equipping itself with new Zavod engines. This could be part of a long-term process, but there is also the possibility that they are brewing up a hostile terrorist attack for the near future. Such activity could be carried out in collaboration with another body, with an emphasis on Iranian aid, but without disqualifying other possibilities. What we don’t have so far, he continued, is a when and where. As always, he added with a sigh. All we can do for now is issue a general warning. Collection bodies, he spun around in his seat and turned his gaze to the different representatives sat around the table, get me something! I don’t want to learn about this attack from the media. Alright?? Binder, are you listening? Get me something!

  On the way back from GHQ, a silence lingered between Tamir and Moti, even more awkward and profound than the silence that had pervaded the car on the way over.

  i. Autonomous Sex

  The following day, Neta’s vivacious heap of curls moseyed into Tamir’s office. So, how’s the good life? she asked with a smile.

  Not too bad, he said, stretching in his chair.

  It’s a bit like an accountant’s office here, isn’t it? she said. I prefer Efroni.

  What do you know about accountants’ offices?

  My dad’s an accountant, she said. And my mom’s an investment banker. So, I’ve seen a few offices in my day…

  Do you have anything about the Front?

  You already asked me that over the phone.

  Yes, well, now I can ask you face to face.

  No, I told you, we only get Hezbollah stuff.

  Okay, did they say anything about my guys?

  If they had, I would have told you already, she smiled. I wouldn’t hide intelligence from you. So, when do you get off? It’s five o’clock already, and I’m starving.

  He apprehensively scoured his little kingdom, his desk, his computer, his drawers and cabinet, worried that some crucial new bit of information might pop up while he’s away.

  Yo
u look like someone who’s afraid to leave his hometown.

  That simile did the trick. He got up from his seat. Okay, where are we going, then?

  There’s a place I really want to try out. Bebaleh, on Ben Yehuda Street.

  That’s Jewish cuisine, isn’t it?

  Ashkenazi, with a Hungarian twist. The cook is called Avri, he used to work in Café Budapest before.

  I see you know your stuff.

  I love eating out, and I try to stay up to date.

  Ben Yehuda… Okay, let’s hitch a ride out to the road and figure out which bus will take us there.

  Don’t be silly. I remind you, I’m from Denia. I have a car. You’re going to get the full VIP treatment— a ride right up to the restaurant door.

  Are you going to pay for the meal, as well? he joked, and immediately regretted it.

  Depends what I get in return… she replied without hesitation.

  On the way over, Tamir told her about the meeting at GHQ. She laughed. Moti’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, she remarked. Most of the truly talented people leave the unit at the end of their service. A year or two later, tops. Some good people do stay, she added, but there are a lot of mediocre people who think they have a better chance of making it in the army than in civilian life. That’s mostly the case. But hey, maybe they’ll offer you a job in research now.

  He fell silent. Would he want a job in research? He thought that what he wanted most was to get out of that uniform as fast as possible and lie naked in some cabin in the woods— a blanket of snow outside, fire crackling in the fireplace inside, and a remarkable woman sitting beside him, bundled up in bear furs. And to study philosophy. Perhaps to study philosophy beside a bear-fur-clad remarkable woman in a fire-heated cabin. He hadn’t made up his mind yet.

  Cat got your tongue? Come on, let’s go get some chopped liver.

  The two entered the restaurant and ordered chopped liver, gefilte fish, herring, schmaltz, latkes, varenikes, and two glasses of beer. As Neta lifted her fork to her mouth and closed her lips over a mound of chopped liver dotted with fried onions, she closed her eyes and a let out a long sigh of pleasure. Tamir suspended his fork in the air, midway to the gefilte fish, and looked at her. He suddenly recalled his porky and exuberant art teacher showing his class slides of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and decided that Neta had Pre-Raphaelite lips.

  God, it’s orgasmic, she mumbled through her Pre-Raphaelite lips.

  Really?

  Oh, you gotta try it!

  He tried it. It really was delicious. Much better than the chopped liver they served in the kibbutz.

  He prepares it with a ton of goose fat, you see… It’s just… Wait, you have to try it with horseradish. There are rules to uphold. Chopped liver is eaten with horseradish. And it blends so perfectly with the beer, doesn’t it?

  Yes.

  I was raised on Austrian food, but this Ashkenazi food— there’s a restaurant like this in Haifa that I visit on occasions, but it’s not half as good as this— every time I eat this Ashkenazi food, it’s like… coming home. The yekkes,19 for all their snobbishness, came to Vienna from Galicia. At the end of the day, we’re all Galicians, aren’t we?

  As she said those words, her eyes half closed, her hand clutching a glass of beer, her fork delivering another bite of chopped liver crowned with horseradish to her lightly-parted expectant lips, Tamir was seized by a desire to kiss her.

  That Avri’s a magician, isn’t he? He takes these simple dishes and turns them into pure gold. Maybe we should try to pull him to Efroni as a reserve soldier.

  He smiled. They drank their beer, relaxed, and looked at each other. There was an unspoken understanding between them. She paid for the meal, and they drove back to his place. Neta said she had to take a shower. After she emerged, wrapped in a purple towel, Tamir went in to take a shower as well. She waited for him under the covers, only her curls protruding from the blanket, illuminated by the faint moonlight coming through the window.

  Well, what are you standing around for, she teased him, aren’t you coming?

  I’m looking at your curls.

  Ah, yes, she smiled, my trademark. Come on already!

  He tucked in next to her under the covers. Her body was warm and soft, as if she radiated a layer of heat that enveloped her body. Without pausing, he burrowed his head between her breasts and down to her belly.

  What are you doing? she laughed.

  Digging in.

  Is that what it’s called? It feels very… childish.

  He recoiled slightly.

  No, it’s fine, if that’s what gets you off…

  He hesitated momentarily, but the warmth exuded from her body drew him in again. He pressed his head against her belly, thinking how at this very moment her stomach was digesting the chopped liver doused in goose fat. From a distance, he thought he could hear her purring like a kitten. He descended further down her body, probing his way south and below, along the slopes of her curls.

  That’s nice of you, but you really don’t have to, he heard her chirpy voice above him.

  What?

  I know it’s an accepted procedure and that girls like it, and I really do appreciate the gesture, but we can skip straight to the next part, as far as I’m concerned. I’m a rare breed, the kind that Kinsey, Masters, and Johnson never knew existed.

  Who? Tamir asked, bemused.

  She pulled him up, gently and firmly rolled him over on his back, and started stroking his member which had gone slightly flaccid. As soon as it regained its sturdiness, standing proud and primed to her satisfaction, she sat on top of it.

  You just lie there. You don’t need to move.

  He didn’t. She rode him expertly, slowing down and speeding up, gyrating and coiling, firming and loosening. The whole affair didn’t take long. She was completely focused and concentrated. A couple of moments later she tightened her grip, her body tensing up, firm and collected; she quivered momentarily, before crashing down beside him with a sigh of satisfaction.

  That was very fulfilling, she said.

  I didn’t do anything, he said.

  I think you could call my style autonomous sex, she said.

  But I literally didn’t do anything. I mean… what’s the difference between me or anyone else who would’ve lain here?

  Your personality, she smiled. Besides, what are you complaining about? You can’t say sleeping with me isn’t convenient.

  Yeah, convenient…

  Good. And hey, don’t peg me as self-centered. Come on, get on your back, I’ll finish you off. You can think about the Popular Front – General Command, if that helps you. I won’t be offended. Any hot girls there?

  Could be, he mumbled, observing the profusion of curls engulfing his loins. His thoughts drifted. He thought about dragonfly wings vibrating over black waters; about crossed rifles; ibises in a thicket; words embroidered in red over white; sacrifice, return, liberation.

  j. Gnats

  Since the meeting at the deputy director’s office, Moti grew cold towards Tamir. During department meetings, he would stare him down with short, cantankerous looks, and when Tamir spoke, he berated him to cut his words short. Even though it was clear that whatever it was that the Front/Jibril was brewing was the most pressing and important of all the department’s affairs, Moti relegated and trivialized the matter, addressing it briefly in the closing minutes of meetings, if at all. Intelligence is one thing, but when his ego is wounded… Keren whispered to Tamir as they were leaving one such meeting. Supposedly, Tamir could have simply ignored Moti’s behavior and gone on monitoring the affair, all the more so now that he knew that the ears of the Research Department were attuned to his evaluations; but he also knew that if there were commanding decisions to be made, such as the decision to reinforce producers in the bases, Moti’s cooperation would be vital. He a
lso knew that were he forced to go over Moti’s head, that would only come back to hurt him later.

  Tamir put those thoughts to rest for the time being, and somewhat reluctantly turned to look at his computer screen. There was nothing interesting to see. It was beginning to seem like another routine, dull day. He stretched, and considered making his usual round of phone calls to IAOs in bases, to make himself feel like he’s on top of things, or simply to chat with Neta a bit. He was about to reach over to the amethyst, when the device suddenly sounded its subtle, hushed ring. Tamir waited a moment before picking up the receiver.

  Tamir Binder?

  Speaking.

  Hello there, said an unfamiliar female voice, I’m speaking from the office of the deputy director of the MID-RD. I’m putting you through.

  Tamir waited. A few seconds later, the deputy director’s booming voice thundered through the receiver.

  Binder?

  Yes… Should he have said yes, sir? He wasn’t sure.

  Why do you sound like that?

  Like how?

  Like you just downed a bottle of cough syrup. Listen, I’ve got something for you.

  Really?

  Yes. We got something from Brass Serpent. You know what that is?

  Tamir tried to quickly sift through the mounds of information he had crammed into his mind over the past few weeks. Brass Serpent, Brass Serpent… Yes, he remembered: the NSA. American line tapping. They send Israeli intelligence material as part of the intelligence sharing agreement between the two countries. He recalled that such an exchange happens quite rarely— that Israeli intelligence only receives information related to specific notices of priority for intelligence sent to the NSA and only when the latter feels that the information does not disclose too much about its technologies and modes of operation. He also recalled that the information does not filter through the usual channels of communications, that he would never see it pop up on his screen, as it is channeled to only a select few senior recipients, under the heading ‘Brass Serpent – Classified – For Your Eyes Only.’