The Righteous Spy

by Merle Nygate

  The men stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

  In spite of summer the flat smelt damp; there were brown stains on the ceiling from a leak, old wallpaper that was ripped by a cat or dog, and the bare wooden boards were scuffed. A door to the right was the bathroom, further along a galley kitchen, and ahead the bedroom door was open.

  Wasim was under a duvet, curled up in a foetal position. He was sobbing quietly. On the floor there was the detritus of a teenager; Eli recognised it from his own son – the pizza boxes and the cola cans. A chair in the corner was camouflaged by the kid’s dirty clothes and Eli lifted them up and moved them to the chest of drawers, smelling the sweaty, scared young man in the bundle. Then Eli placed the chair by the side of the bed in a position that a visiting doctor might use. Rafi was still standing in the doorway but with a hand gesture, Eli waved him away.

  ‘I am so very sorry, habibti,’ Eli said softly. ‘But you must be brave now, braver than ever.’

  The top of the duvet moved and Wasim’s pointed face appeared. He was blinking like a mole, in this case a red-eyed mole. Eli handed the boy the spectacles that were on the bedside table.

  ‘I saw it on my feed, I knew it was her.’

  ‘Listen, listen,’ Eli said. ‘You have to believe, it will make it easier. Allah took her into his arms and she is in Jennah. She died well and with great courage, and with love for you. It’s what she wanted. There was nothing you could have done. Wasim, you must live well to honour her.’

  The kid looked more like a boy than a man and Eli couldn’t help think of his own son. How would Doron have coped in this situation of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? He had already seen combat and the ugly side of occupation. Was he hardened, could he still weep?

  ‘What about Petra? She promised...’ the kid’s face gurned into an ugly sob of loss.

  ‘Dead. Or nearly dead. Badly injured anyway,’ Eli said. They needed to plug that particular hole fast. Eli went on, ‘She tried to save your sister from shaheeda; she didn’t understand, she wanted to save you too.’ At least that part was true.

  Eli felt in his jacket pocket for the syringe that Rafi had prepared in the car. He was close enough if need be.

  ‘You now have a choice to make, habibti, you can either stay here and wait for the police and MI5 to come for you, or you can come with us and we will get you back to America safely, inshallah. If you come with us you will go back to school, finish your studies and when the time comes we will be there – if you want. If you stay here... if you decide to stay here, we cannot help you.’

  Wasim pulled himself up to a sitting position and Eli got a clear view of the boy’s bare chest and arms. One swift move and he’d be able to press the plunger on the syringe into the boy’s arm.

  ‘I don’t want to pressure you,’ Eli said.

  But he did. If Wasim wasn’t immediately recruitable then he would be tranquilised and crated; shipped back to Israel and imprisoned under the terrorist act because of his connection with Sahar. At best he’d get a short sentence and his potential career would be ruined. At worst wasn’t good at all.

  Eli smiled, ‘We haven’t got much time, maybe a couple of hours, maybe less. Shall I find the kitchen and make you some coffee?’ Eli stood up; it would be easier to use the syringe from a standing position. If the kid agreed to go back to the US he’d have a different life. He’d be recruited as an agent for Mossad. He might never know who he was working for but he’d be a tool, just like his sister, because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  ‘Well, habibti?’ Eli said. ‘Coffee, America, what do you want to do?’

  ‘I want to go home. I want to go back to Kansas.’

  ‘Mumtaz, excellent, you have made a good choice.’

  69

  Ramat Gan, Tel Aviv – A Month Later

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ Yuval said as he strapped himself into the passenger seat of the Toyota hybrid. It wasn’t as if Eli had much choice; Yuval had told him that he wanted Eli to drive him to Ben Gurion airport for his flight to Washington.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you away from the Office.’ Yuval said. His small hands tapped at his carry-on bag. ‘There’s too much going on there at the moment with the inquiry; too much talk; too much speculation. What we need to do is take a step away from it, consolidate our situation, and look forward.’

  The evidence was still being given to the inquiry and the atmosphere was uncertain to say the least. It was what Eli imagined a Medici court would have been like; in every corner and meeting room, by every plant and desk, there’d be one or two or three people talking, stopping talking, sharing what they’d heard or thought they’d heard, and postulating the outcome of the inquiry.

  ‘The situation is like this,’ Yuval said. ‘First we need to tie up all loose ends. What’s the status on Wasim, any further contact logged?’

  ‘None direct since he went back; but we’re maintaining a regular check,’ Eli said. ‘It’s too early to be absolutely certain, but he seems okay, he’s attending lectures, behaving normally. The FBI paid him a visit but the duplicate passport we gave him did the rest. We can probably start developing him in six months or so.’

  ‘Good,’ Yuval said. ‘Like my grandmother used to say, you can always make a meal out of the leftovers, they’re often the best part. It would have been a pity if Wasim is wasted.’

  Eli fingered the four-centimetre scar on his forehead. It was healing faster than the rest of him. They’d just come off the Ayalon and were close to the airport.

  ‘Once you’re in the UK your first priority will be rebuilding our relationship with the British,’ Yuval said.

  ‘Mevin.’ Eli indicated and turned towards the airport. ‘Understood. I’ve been thinking about that; we’ve already given them the product from the Iranian scientist as a peace offering. That should help particularly as I doubt that the French shared it.’

  Ahead of Eli, the security gate to the airport opened. He slowed down at the checkpoint and was waved through.

  ‘We also need to monitor Trainer,’ Yuval said. ‘Regularly. Make sure she’s on track.’

  ‘Tov. Anything else?’ Eli said.

  ‘No, that should do for starters. I’m coming through in October and I’ll make sure we have time to catch up.’ Yuval said.

  ‘What about Rafi?’ Eli blurted out.

  ‘We wait and see,’ Yuval said. ‘He insists that he gave all the details to Milne but it seems impossible to believe given what he said about Red Cap. In the meantime we have to keep everything running smoothly and not allow any leaks about the inquiry to get into the press. That’s why I need you to go to London as acting station manager.’

  ‘I don’t care about the outcome of the inquiry; if Rafi isn’t jailed I’ll resign.’

  Yuval gave a short, hard laugh, ‘You can’t resign. I’m sorry Eli but that’s how it is.’

  Eli shook his head in frustration, ‘We protected Rafi... We should have thrown the book at him; that’s what he deserved.’

  Yuval said nothing.

  Eli pulled up at the passenger drop-off spot, switched off the engine and turned to Yuval. ‘How could we have someone in the organisation who deliberately disobeyed direct orders? It’s completely wrong. He murdered Red Cap.’

  Yuval had his hand on the door handle; Eli could hear him breathing. Eventually he said, ‘We don’t know that. The only way we can corroborate Rafi’s claim that he gave Milne the information about the attack is by asking Milne; and that’s the one thing we can’t do. Like this, we keep everything under control and that’s why you can’t resign. Eli, all the time we must ask ourselves, is it good for Mossad and is it good for Israel?’

  ‘Is it good for Israel?’ Eli said.

  ‘This is our burden and we have to live with it. I know it’s dirty, but that’s the work.’

  Throughout the drive back home, Eli thought about Yuval’s parting words. He pulled up at a roadside kiosk and bought a pretzel and
a coke from a scrawny lad by the till. Leaning against the car, feeling the heat of the metal on his butt he ate and drank and watched the planes take off over the freeway and bank towards Cyprus and the north.

  Superficially Eli was fine; he’d seen the medics; talked to the shrink; and passed the necessary medicals. He knew the answers to the questions; he knew how to dance around any suggestion that he wasn’t fit for purpose. But the truth was that Eli was still in shock; still sick to his stomach.

  Eli screwed up the paper that had held the pretzel and got back into the car. He was disheartened; everything that Yuval had said on the drive to the airport was true. He couldn’t resign; he had to go to London and hope that the inquiry would recommend criminal proceedings against Rafi. Meanwhile, the collateral damage was outweighed by the flow of product. It was a balancing act and on balance, they were ahead. Yet Red Cap wasn’t ahead; neither was Sweetbait nor the Spanish student who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And as for Trainer who knew what she was suffering or how she might react.

  70

  Thames End Village, Surrey – Two Weeks Later

  That morning Petra drifted around the house in the heavy daze of the sleep deprived. She showered and ate; she neither noticed what she wore nor what she swallowed. The malaise had been going on for weeks. At least once a day Petra went to her wardrobe safe and took out Sahar’s notebook. She’d run her fingers over the beautiful script, wondering what it said, what the girl had written about and was so important that she’d begged her to keep it safe. Looking at the book was a ritual that Petra recognised as being dysfunctional but the act was still helping her deal with her state of mind.

  Fortunately, Matt was still away but as she sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and the doorbell rang, she hoped that he would be there and not Sandie or anybody else to whom she would have to pretend that everything was okay.

  Petra looked through the spy hole, hesitated for a second, and then pulled open the front door.

  ‘What do you want?’ Petra said.

  ‘I want to come in.’

  Benny was holding a bunch of autumn flowers. ‘I want to see you, find out how you are, and I want to explain what happened.’

  ‘I know what happened, I was there.’ Yet she still turned around and let him follow her into the kitchen. He didn’t sit down, but lay the flowers gently on the table. She didn’t offer him anything.

  ‘What’s going to happen to Rafi? Is he going to prison? I’d be happy to testify if that’s the case,’ Petra said.

  ‘May I have some water please,’ Benny said.

  She took a glass from the draining board and filled it with tap water. She didn’t hand it to him; she placed it on the table with the rust-coloured chrysanthemums.

  ‘Be assured that you won’t see Rafi again,’ Benny said.

  ‘That’s not enough, I want to know what’s going to happen to him and I want to be satisfied that he’s been punished,’ Petra said. ‘I don’t think that’s too much to ask for keeping my side of the bargain and keeping quiet when I was interviewed by Special Branch.’

  ‘The inquiry is ongoing,’ Benny said. ‘Believe me, I’m as sick about it as you are, but I’ve got a job to do. What happened with Deanna? How did she cope with the interviews?’

  ‘She was hysterical, kept crying about the school’s reputation. And when they tried to trace the source of payments they found she hadn’t filed her annual accounts for five years; I think it was supposed to have been her husband’s responsibility. Anyway, I spoke to her last week, she’s still in a bad way and I think the business will go bust.’

  ‘Are you sorry for her?’

  ‘No. What happened to Wasim? Did you kill him too?’

  Benny shook his head as if he was weary. ‘He’s back home in Kansas, in school, but we told him you were dead, injured in the blast, just to tidy everything up.’

  ‘Expected. Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s been interviewed by the FBI if that’s what you mean but he’s as good as he could be given the circumstances. Listen, he could be in a British jail or worse.’

  She saw Benny blink and shift his head to one side; it was a recognisable tell. He was going to try to soothe her and say whatever was necessary to get her back on the team. The sight of it made Petra feel weary all the way down to the cells within the marrow of her bones; she was exhausted to death. She was sick of the lies; the prevarication; the massaging and the manipulation.

  ‘You told me that the end result of this sick operation was that Sahar would be arrested and relocated to some idyll. And now she’s dead. Did you know all along? Are you really so disgusting as to use a human being in this way?’

  Benny sighed. ‘Something went very wrong, that’s why there’s an inquiry. That’s all I can say except we take this seriously; if Rafi is guilty he’ll be punished. You have my word on that.’

  ‘Sure,’ Petra said without emotion.

  ‘Is there anything you need? Anything we can help you with? I’d like to pop by from time to time, have a coffee –’

  ‘And check up on me,’ she interrupted in a flat voice. ‘Just tell me one thing, Benny. Why the hell should I keep the faith? How can I possibly trust you? You lie, you cheat, you kill.’

  There was a painful silence in the kitchen. At last Benny spoke, ‘You can trust me because I trust you. Because we’re both trying to make a difference and we both made mistakes; bad mistakes. It’s as simple as that. I’ll be in touch.’

  He pushed the seat back, stood up and walked to the door. He turned around before he left the kitchen. ‘By the way, my real name is Eli Amiram.’

  71

  Queen’s Park, London – Two Weeks Later

  On the TV screen the birds took off from the African river in massed panic desperate to evade the prowling cheetah on the dry riverbank. They soared higher and higher into the parched blue sky swirling away from danger. Eli leaned back into Gal’s arms; she loved the wildlife programmes.

  For Eli, the flapping birds only made him think about the organisation’s reaction to Sweetbait. Officially, it was deemed a success; the intelligence conduits between MI6 and Mossad were wide open and raw data from the Qatar embassies in both London and Washington was now spewing like blood from a carotid artery. Survival was success. Product was success. Avoiding the prowling cheetah was success.

  And now Eli was in London, on the sofa with Gal.

  ‘Do you think I should resign?’ Eli said.

  ‘If that’s what you want to do,’ Gal sipped her green tea.

  ‘Or we could just go away, run away, live somewhere else.’

  ‘I don’t think that would work; you’re not that kind of guy. You stick at things.’

  ‘Maybe they’re the wrong things.’

  ‘Eli, you’re entitled to be depressed; but you will come to terms with the situation and it will not blight your life,’ she kissed his eyebrow.

  ‘That’s very kind of you to say so, but I made mistakes, bad mistakes, errors of judgement. People got hurt who didn’t deserve to.’

  ‘Nobody deserves to get hurt,’ Gal said.

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Eli said. He sat up and moved away from Gal. ‘I spoke to Asher today –’

  ‘Asher?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. He knows someone in the secretariat who read all the witness statements.’

  ‘Should you be telling me this?

  ‘I don’t care; I have to speak to someone. Rafi insists that he did everything correctly and that it was impossible for the detonator to go off. At the very least he fucked up; in my opinion it was deliberate but if he sticks to his story he gets himself off the hook; no criminal proceedings. It hurts, Gal, it hurts.’

  ‘What do you want to happen?’ Gal said.

  Eli got up from the sofa and paced to the floor-to-ceiling window where he looked out over the green grass and grey sky of the park beyond their north-west London flat. ‘He should have gone to prison.’

  ‘Wh
y didn’t you say that when you talked to the inquiry? Why didn’t you tell Yuval that you couldn’t keep quiet about what you think happened?’

  Eli said nothing.

  For the first time since the blast Gal’s voice showed exasperation. ‘Okay, so you made mistakes; you misjudged situations; people got hurt. How many times does that happen in battle? How many times does that happen in life? People make mistakes when they’re driving; they’re on the phone; a bike pulls out.’

  Eli’s eyes followed a squirrel that was scampering across the wet grass, trying to get to safety before the foxes came out. Behind him he was aware that Gal had picked up the remote and paused the TV. The room was quiet.

  Eli sensed Gal rise from the sofa and come towards him. She put her hand on his shoulder and her touch was comforting.

  She said, ‘Eli how much of your anguish is to do with your self-perceived mistakes and regret about the people who got hurt? And how much is it guilt that you’ve got the London job?’

  72

  The Travellers Club – Next Day

  The lunch was billed as a welcome back but Eli was in no doubt that the welcome element would be seasoned with bitter herbs. Since the explosion, communication with Milne had been through official channels; no intimate chit chat over coffee or meals with fine wine. Today’s meeting would be the first time the two men had sat across the table breaking bread and Eli assumed that after the explosion Milne must have been flayed for mishandling the situation. If so, he would be in no mood to be pleasant.

  But Eli was wrong.

  ‘Sherry I seem to remember,’ Milne said. ‘The club has changed the wine list since you were here last and I must recommend the Manzanilla Solear; they serve it ice cold and it’s really quite delicious.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Eli said.’ I’ve been looking forward to this lunch. Perhaps some day I’ll be able to entertain you in Tel Aviv – we have some very fine restaurants.’