He took us into the living room and turned on an ancient record player that squeaked out golden oldies. We sipped the wine, ate crackers and oysters, and chatted. Tom looked like he had stomach cramps, and watched us closely the whole time. Certainly not your typical solitary fisherman, I thought. Too curious, too nosy.
Then I noticed Kate staring at the telephone.
"May I use your phone?" she asked courteously. "Ours is disconnected." I knew the magic of the last few days was over.
"Where to?" Tom asked.
She waited a moment before answering. "Tel Aviv, Israel."
Tom threw her a questioning look, and then a worried glance my way. I nodded.
"We'll pay for it," I said quietly.
"As you wish," he muttered, and sat back in his armchair. Sitting there, we watched in silence as she tried to put her call through, her efforts becoming more and more frantic.
"Your line’s dead, too," she blurted out furiously, "and I simply have to get through. I can't ignore my responsibilities anymore." Her eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration.
"Please excuse us," I turned to Tom. "We have to go."
"We don't have to go," she calmly stated. "We have to call."
It was an uncomfortable moment. Tom's suspicious expression didn't have a calming effect on the situation.
I always knew we couldn't hide out in this paradise forever, but I had tried not to think about how soon it would be over. "Let's go out on the back porch," I suggested.
She looked at me, blinking skeptically.
"David..." she started, but then looking at me for a while, she changed her mind.
"Excuse us for a minute, Tom," I said to our astounded host. He stayed put in the living room, staring hostilely out the window. There was nothing out there.
"Take good care of that girl," he said in a nearly threatening tone, his back still turned. "I don't know what she's after, but she obviously needs help."
I wouldn't treat a suggestion from a man his size lightly. I took a large transistor from the kitchen and led Kate outside. I switched the radio on to a talk show and turned the volume up. Concerned listeners were calling in to talk about the government's immigration policy and the threat of unemployment.
"That's so annoying," Kate spat out angrily. "Can't you turn it off or change the station?"
"Just trying to make it harder for someone to eavesdrop."
We sat down on a long porch swing. The sky was studded with thousands of stars. The lights of Provincetown glowed in the distance.
"What do you have to report on?" I asked her, trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible.
"The whole business - the Benjamin affair."
Was I doomed to learn of a new lover of hers every day? "First Avihu, now Benjamin. Who's next?" I muttered to myself.
But her thoughts were elsewhere. "The whole network's had it," she mumbled. "We have to save what we can. I'm sure they don't know yet in Israel." She repeated those same disconnected sentences over again, as if she was in shock, trying desperately to put back together the pieces of a thought that had been shattered.
"I thought we'd kissed that entire story goodbye -the fisherman and the farmer, side by side. Remember?"
"I can't get it out of my mind," she brushed off my comment. "It won't leave me alone."
"So maybe you ought to tell me exactly what's bothering you?"
"The meetings at my apartment went on for three months," she began, seeming to pick up where she'd left off. "Like I told you, they often gave me messages, envelopes or letters, and I passed them on." As she spoke, she bit her lower lip from time to time, either in concentration or despair. On the radio they were still shouting, arguing for or against something or other, but my brain wasn't making any sense of the words.
"I played the hostess, serving coffee and cake, trying to be pleasant to all my uninvited guests, but I didn't really pay much attention to them. They just wanted to finish their business as fast as they could. I wanted them to leave too, so Avihu and I could have a little time alone."
"And Benjamin," I prodded, my heart cramping.
"Benjamin was different. The first time he came, he tried to impress me. `Are you Kaybee?' he squealed. That was the password. It seemed to amuse Avihu when he gave me that code name. Later he told me it would be the password. `Follow me, please,' I said, playing the game. I knew he was supposed to come and that he was some kind of genius. Benjamin didn't pay much attention to me. He strutted in like a rooster in a new coop trying to impress the hens. He looked at everything - the furniture, the rugs, the Chippendale photocopy machine, out the windows, back at me again, and then at Avihu.
"`I told you I wanted to meet your boss,' he said to Avihu. `With all due respect, this is too big for you to handle.' Avihu said he had to see a sample, and I could tell it wasn't the first time Benjamin had heard that. He got all excited, blushed and squealed at the same time.
"`Look here,' he said, `I'm putting my family at risk, as you know. And we're talking about my future, my whole life. But you - you're risking even more. You're risking the future of your whole nation. Israel is in mortal danger, and you don't get it.'
"To me," Kate went on, "knowing Avihu as I did, it all seemed ridiculous. Avihu didn't seem impressed and Benjamin just when Benjamin stopped for breath, he calmly stated, `You won't see anyone until I see what you have to offer. If you don't like it, it's perfectly okay. You can get the hell out of here and stuff your information you know where. Sell it to whoever you want, or choke on it.'
"Benjamin stood there, appalled. His hands shook and there was foam on his lips. `You too,' he spat. `You want to destroy the Third Temple just like the Department of Defense, just like all the other agencies, the DIA, the CIA, the FSTC.'
"Avihu patiently took out his wallet and showed Benjamin some kind of identification. I found out later it was an international pilot's ID card. Benjamin examined it closely, breathing heavily, and his eyes almost jumped out of his head.
"`You… you're...'
"`That's right, lieutenant colonel, F4Phantom pilot.'
"Benjamin still had trouble breathing. `You're Major A. from the stories of the Six Day War, the air strike in the Sinai?' He must have recognized Avihu from stories he read in the papers.
"Avihu nodded. `Yes,' he said in a businesslike tone. ‘I guess I’m the one. Abu Ageila, Bir Gafgafa, and the battle in northern Suez.’"Kate paused for a second, looking at my eyes.
In fact, I felt a sense of relief: he wasn't another lover. But the green monster reared its ugly head again: Avihu, dear God. He was a real hero. A living legend. His name was whispered in awe when they spoke of the heroic feats of the Air Force. I found it hard to believe that the crook who broke Kate's heart and used her so cynically had once been my idol. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I could see the grimace on her face as these memories came back.
"Benjamin considered this for a minute, and then sat down and opened his briefcase. `Okay,' he said, `but just remember these are Defense Department papers. Handle them with care.'
"Avihu looked over the papers for quite a while, and for the first time I could see how shocked he was. `The bastards,' he said. `Chemical war fare. Bastards!' I didn't know which bastards he was referring to. Benjamin seemed pleased."
Kate stole another glance at me. "Let's go back inside and try to make that call again," she pleaded. "You understand now, don't you? It is very serious."
I turned off the radio.
We went back into the living room. Tom was still standing by the window, looking out and puffing on his pipe. "Are you done?" he asked the window. "Everything okay?"
Kate went over to him and put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she said. "A stupid fight, but we've made up now. You forgive us, don't you?"
He nodded his head, but even Kate's contrite tone brought no smile to his face. She turned away from him and went back to the phone. She picked up the receiver and her eyes lit up. She must have
gotten a dial tone. She dialed the first number confidently, as though knowing she was doing the right thing. But after listening for a few seconds, her face turned dark and she let out a curse –only the second time she'd done that since I'd known her.
From the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a piece of paper with a lot of numbers. She dialed again, and this time, too, it seemed she didn't get an answer. She chose a different number, and dialed, and then a third and a fourth. "Let's try again… just pick it up guys," she muttered to herself, compulsively redialing the previous numbers and becoming more and more frantic. Her fingers trembled. Tom didn't look at all amused as he watched her.
"I need some tobacco," he said suddenly. "I hope they're still holding a box of Harnifour for me at the paper store." I figured that was his way of telling us that our visit was over, but then he added, "I'll be right back. Make yourselves at home, meanwhile." Out of habit, I watched him through the window until he was swallowed up by the darkness.
Now that we were alone, Kate felt she could talk more freely. "Three of them go to answering machines," she groaned, "and the fourth’s connected to a fax machine. I can't reach any of them." She dialed again, once more was told to leave a message, and was too distraught to do so.
I was afraid things were about to get out of control. "Calm down. We'll think of something," I said with my best conviction. It was not enough. She turned her back to me. The fury my words had provoked seemed to help her come to a decision. Again she dialed one of the numbers, and this time started speaking into the machine without any hesitation:
"Hi," a short pause, and then, "this is Kaybee. I'm on Cape Cod. I came here from Manhattan. The whole network's been exposed. Please send someone to get me out." Apparently no one had supplied her with an actual mayday code. She looked miserable and mortified. She held onto the receiver for a few more seconds, as if she were waiting for an answer from the machine, and then hung up and looked back at me.
"They still don't know what happened, or they'd answer. It's all on my shoulders now. If I get in touch with my contacts, I'll burn them all; if I don't, they go on operating and then the most important part of the mission will be sniffed out within two or three weeks."
My heart ached with compassion. Trying again to sound gentle and cautious, I said: "I passed the message on to the Israeli embassy in Washington the day you came to the consulate. It was part of the procedure."
"But nobody did anything. They all thought I was crazy," she replied sadly. "Except for you, maybe," she added after a moment's thought.
We sat there a long time in silence, trying to think of a way out of the impossible situation. The problem we had allowed ourselves to forget now reasserted itself in all its urgency. Who the hell could we get to help us? There was no one in Boston or the whole of the United States who she could talk to right now about the next steps. No member of our establishment wanted to hear anything about it. The only instruction I'd ever been given was to get rid of her. And by disobeying that instruction, I'd become another trouble.
"Nobody in the States will help us," I said out loud.
"What about in Israel?" she asked.
Remember your duty to report. Those repeated warnings from the bodyguard course echoed constantly in my head. Every single incident must be reported, immediately. Coordination between headquarters and the field stations must always be tight and secure. No way will a field office act independently, for better or worse, or move too little or too late to solve some urgent local problem, once instructed. Yet, maybe for some reason the guys here hadn't bothered to report Kate's story back to Israel? That must be what happened. But even if they thought she was a nutcase, they were required to report it. So how come they didn't? Washington was on the line during that day. We had special visitors for her the next day, hadn't we? Or was it local, without ever reporting back home to Israel?
I held back for a while. I wasn't familiar with the emergency numbers Kate had used. They might be real, but connected to some other agency. I knew the emergency number for the security operations in Tel Aviv. It was changed every month and you had to use a special code if you wanted an answer. Using it unnecessarily meant instant suspension, but right now that was the least of my worries. And what if Kate's story was true? What had seemed at first like a hallucination with its source somewhere in Washington Square was now beginning to make more and more sense. I started dialing.
"Thrush" was this month's code name for the duty officer at headquarters in Tel Aviv. I dialed the number, added a four digit code, and listened to the recording. "Fair Trade Practices, hello. We are open every day between eight and three. For urgent complaints, please leave a message after the tone." The message was followed by a loud beep that was cut off by a raspy monotone repeating, "Hello, hello, hello!"
"Hi, Thrush," I said, rather surprised he had picked up the phone without waiting for the password.
"First of all, it's not Thrush, it's Sparrow. Second of all, I don't have time for this nonsense; I'm picking up all the calls now. And thirdly, what's on your mind, David." It seemed the system had been put on alert.
"Why are you picking up all the calls?"
"Those are my orders."
"Have you been waiting to hear from me?"
"Those are my orders."
This wasn't the time for a friendly chat.
"I have a lady here with an urgent message," I said. "Will you talk to her?"
The silence on the other end of the line stretched on forever. Finally, Swallow answered. "Put her on."
I handed the phone to Kate and at that very moment I realized I had fallen in love with her. Not "fondness," not "friendship" - real love. Otherwise, why would I care if she made a fool of herself or drowned in her fears? I prayed with all my heart that headquarters in Tel Aviv would save her from the crazy nightmare that was gnawing away at her sleep and her brain.
"Hello?" Kate answered uncertainly. Tom's telephone had an amplifier for the hearing impaired. Even from a distance, I could hear Swallow replying in his raspy voice. Kate recited a few words about the network collapsing and her needing help. When she was done, silence returned to the other end of the line.
She waited a minute or two, and I could see the vein in her neck pulsing. The silence was so deep; I could hear the faucet dripping in Tom's kitchen. I watched Kate with concern. Her hands were trembling from the tension. Suddenly she let out a shriek. "Get me out of here!" Then, weeping uncontrollably: "Save them. It's a lost cause. Do something!" The tears streamed down her cheeks. I stood there, paralyzed, not daring to move.
Swallow responded immediately."Calm down, Kaybee, calm down. We haven't forgotten you."
Kate's crying subsided a little. "What's going to happen?" she whispered. "What are you going to do?"
Through the window I could see Tom plodding heavily back from the paper store. He came in very quietly, raising his eyebrow at the sight of Kate hanging on for her life to his telephone.
"Look." We heard Swallow's voice sounding authoritative and confident. "We know what's going on. It's good you contacted us, but from now on, it's all in good hands. You stay at the Cape and we'll get back to you as soon as possible."
"Who is `we'?" she asked.
"The Office of the Prime Minister," he answered. A second later we heard the line being cut off. As soon as Kate put down the phone, it rang loudly and unexpectedly. Startled and incredulous, she sprang backward. Tom put the brown paper bag he was holding on the counter, lazily reached out, and picked up the phone.
"Yes."
He listened for a while.
"Yes," he repeated.
Somebody asked a question and he hesitated a moment before answering, "No."
I sensed the call was about us. The cursory glance he gave us before replying seemed to me like inquisitive, suspicious scrutiny. But if he had ratted on us to someone, he wouldn't have risked coming back.
Kate was still weeping quietly. I held out a tissue to her.
&nb
sp; When Tom hung up, he explained, "That was old Bill O'Brien, actually Sergeant O'Brien, the local cop." He turned to Kate, scratching his head in thought and confusion. "Two guys showed up here asking about two people who abandoned a cab on Route 3 last week. You’ve got to understand," he said, almost apologetically, "this is a small town, especially at this time of year...I told Bill I didn't know anything about a cab, but if you think they might be talking about friends of yours, maybe you ought to get in touch with them right away."
"I don't know," Kate said, turning to me. "Could you call your friend back and ask him..."
"No way! That would not be the right thing to do, and I'm sure there's no connection."
She sighed, and without letting us in on what she was thinking, leaned over and picked up the phone again. This time she didn't hesitate when she dialed. I could see the number. The consulate in Boston. At this hour, it was picked up by an answering machine with Steve's voice suggesting she leave a message. Kate's voice was equally firm as she spoke at dictation speed.
"This is Kaybee. I'll be at the Israeli Consulate in Boston at noon tomorrow. Please have someone pick me up there. I am unable to contact anyone myself at this time. Thank you and Shalom."
She looked at us triumphantly, although still a little scared. I wasn't convinced she was doing the right thing, but I didn't have any other ideas. I got up and took her arm.
"Come on, Kate," I said. "Thanks, Tom. It's been fun. I guess we won't be here tomorrow, so I want you to know I think you're okay." Compliments were never my strong suit.
Tom looked tired and troubled. His cocker spaniel eyes seemed more melancholy than ever. "It was okay by me, too."
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