The Consulate Conspiracy

by Oren Sanderson

  Noni stared. Shoshi tried to stretch her lips into a rictus of a smile.

  "That’s the… the protestor!” Noni whispered in horror.

  The lighting in the penthouse was subtle, allowing the guests to see the twinkling city skyline. Nearly two hundred people were in the suite, but there was no sense of overcrowding, and we could move lightly between the balloons and the decorative ribbons in black and gold, designed to add a touch of class and dignity to the event. From the servers circulating through the room, I grabbed two hors d’oeuvres — one smoked salmon and one foie gras. They were quite tasty. The program for the evening consisted of greetings, speeches, a guest lecture by a well-known Israeli professor on the Middle East and the peace process, a buffet dinner, and an informal session.

  "You disappeared,” I told Mrs. Cohan. A reception was an excellent opportunity for a ceasefire. Sarah did not know what a dangerous gang she was dealing with. I was trying to see if there were any of my more deadly acquaintances around.

  "Everything okay with you?” Despite the light smile befitting the reception, Sarah sounded worried. “Angela called me. She seemed to be under a lot of pressure, and she said she was on her way to you.”

  "That matter is settled,” I replied diplomatically. “I’m glad you took a break from the demonstrations. Do you know what the engineer is doing now?”

  Shoshi, who had been left with no choice but to hang out next to us, asked Noni in Hebrew, “This is the one with the big mouth?”

  “Yes, I’m the one with the big mouth,” Sarah replied in Hebrew. “And you must be the director of the consular section.” She extended an elegant hand toward Shoshi, who was astonished.

  "So how are you spending your time during our ceasefire?” I asked Sarah, collecting a glass of champagne and glancing at the tray of Buffalo wings, my favorite. She did not know about the battle that broke out between her two partners. I hoped to hear more about Jeremiah, that crazy, murderous fanatic

  "At charity events of this kind, my darling.” She chuckled. “Don ‘t think I’m going to make it easy for our hosts here.”

  "Look!” Shoshi failed to stifle an excited cry, as Robert Redford’s twin passed by us and joined an intimate conversation among the elite. Impeccably coiffed and flashing a blinding smile, the tuxedoed Shuki looked like the Great Gatsby at his finest.

  As for Moses, he was nowhere to be seen, so I approached Barkat, who stood in the center of a circle of listeners, engaging them in stimulating conversation. Those around him seem concerned.

  The reception was going to be interesting. It attracted the most important players in the community, who had many reasons to be worried. I hoped that night I might get answers for some of my questions as well.

  "…you see, it’s the U.S. space program that gives America its qualitative advantage over all its competitors in the world,” Barkat informed his listeners in a tone that brooked no dispute.

  "In every field?” one woman asked, ageless, with huge diamonds twinkling in her necklace.

  “Of course in every field. What brought down the Soviet Union? Star Wars! America invested in the SDI, and the Soviets were bankrupted trying to keep up. With the space program, America left all of its competitors in the dust. It is the one field that touches all others. The space race brought about breakthroughs in computers, communications, and everything else that is important nowadays.” Barkat considered his listeners with a pleasant look; he gave his audience the feeling that they understood the subject just as well as he.

  "It might well be the end of the world as we knew it,” remarked angrily a serious-minded young lady in a short bob.

  "On the contrary,” Barkat retorted pleasantly. “It is only if we adhere to the principles of reason and moderation that we may prevent the hydra of fundamentalism and tyranny — in all of its forms — from raising its heads.”

  "He’s amazing,” moaned Shoshi, standing next to me, as if in sexual ecstasy. “If we had a few more of these, we would not have to give back any more land."

  "We must stand firm and embrace a realistic view of the future,” Barkat continued.

  "Bullshit!” Sarah Cohan, my new friend was going to spoil Klein’s party, as she promised. “Like Israel’s firmness in breaking the bones of Arab children?”

  Barkat replied, unruffled, “I am not ashamed of Israeli determination. As we say, the Third Temple will not be destroyed like its predecessors. Israeli determination has fulfilled the visions of the Prophets and achieved the miracle of the return of Zion. It is equally incumbent upon us to strengthen our ally, the United States, in achieving a strategic advantage to allow it to defeat all the reactionary flagbearers.”

  “With nuclear testing and environmental devastation?” the young woman representing the opposition asked bitterly. Then she turned and left the group clustered around Barkat. His steady and winning smile never wavered.

  I chose to go to the huge picture windows at the edge of the suite and enjoy the view of the beautiful lights of the city spread out below us.

  “Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?” The female voice asking me was low, warm, and sad, and the question she quoted from The Third Man did not detract from my surprise when I saw Laure — beautiful with big brown eyes that found no comfort. Her black skirt reached to the floor, her blouse sparkled. For a moment, my breath caught. She had the long hair and broad shoulders of someone born for love. She had eaten Buffalo wings with me at the Cadillac when she announced with that strained grin of hers that she would not go to bed with me.

  "The dot’s mother always cares,” I replied. “There’s no one who didn’t once have a mother who loved him.”

  “That was once,” Laure said. “Do not dismiss him out of hand. He sounds a little crazy with his visions of the Third Temple, but he is a true genius who just wants to save us from ourselves.” It took me a moment to realize that she was talking about Barkat

  "You too?” I’m really disappointed. “What is it between you and him?”

  "He’s my boyfriend.” Again I was struck by the eyes smoldering with pain. What’s her story?

  "Your boyfriend?” Then I remembered: Saar told me about them the first evening I saw her. I had completely blocked the memory. I had to change the subject. “How’s your back?”

  "It’ll be fine. You know, he’s got a PhD from Albuquerque University.”

  "And probably five children too.”

  "Only four.” So what does she want from me anyway? I have my own problems.

  "Are you loving this evening?”

  “The only thing I love is my little sister, and even that’s a little much for me.”

  “You know what? Why don’t you get me a Campari with orange juice, and let’s sit down. I can’t stand any longer.”

  The living room was on the other side of the coat closet; it also had an entire wall of glass overlooking the sparkling lights of Houston. We sat there alone, with a tray of miniature smoked salmon sandwiches that I snagged from a passing waitress.

  “So what kind of name is Laure?”

  I extracted from her a smile that momentarily dispelled her despair. "I knew you would eventually ask. It was Larissa.”

  "Larissa? Like Lara from Dr. Zhivago?”

  "That’s the one. My father admired Boris Pasternak. In Kiryat Motzkin, at school, they abbreviated it to Laure.”

  "Julie Christie was stunning in the movie."

  "Could be. I’ve never seen it. It was banned by the Soviets, of course. And later… Well, Larissa was supposed to be a parable about Russia. Everyone wanted her and everyone hurt her.”

  "Zhivago too?”

  "Most of all. He was weak. Weak and cowardly.”

  "But your father…”

  "He left us. Like Lara’s father.” I was silent. "I was little. Maybe six
years old. This was in Leningrad. I guess it’s Saint Petersburg now. Anyway, my mother saw to it that I had everything I needed. A lot of piano and culture lessons. After four years, we managed to immigrate to Israel. I was her whole world.”

  "And what is she doing now?"

  "She’s sick with worry. She wanted to come with me to Houston, but I wouldn’t let her. She sits in Motzkin and calls me once a week. If it was up to her, she would call every day. I remember walking with Hashomer Hatzair on May Day, on Allenby Street in Haifa. She would accompany me on the sidewalk, and walk the entire route. At every intersection she would clap with the spectators.”

  "I had no connection to my mother. Almost from the beginning.”

  "That doesn’t make sense. Didn’t you say every dot has a mother who loves it? There’s no such thing as a disconnected parent. Even my father loved me, I think. I keep missing him. It’s hard to understand if you haven’t gone through it.”

  "My father was killed when I was in high school,” I said abruptly, almost against my will.

  "So we’re both orphans,” she said soberly. “But I’ve never had a cop die in my arms.”

  "Yeah,” I admitted. “What makes you bring it up?”

  She ignored my question. “Must’ve been a terrible experience.”

  "Mostly, it made me angry,” I replied. “I’m sure they’ll find the killer."

  "I’m not so sure.” She looked at her Campari glass, nearing empty. “It’s a much more complicated affair than you think.”

  "Is that what you hear from Barkat?”

  "From his friends. Some of his friends are awful. You have to be careful.”

  "I already noticed,” I replied after a moment. This conversation was headed in a bad direction.

  "Did Jay tell you anything before he died?”

  "Why is this important? How do you know that name?”

  "What did he say to you?”

  "Who wants to know? Those terrible friends?”

  "No,” she replied. “I want to know. It’s important to me.”

  I sighed. "Do you know Jeremiah Moses?”

  "The engineer? Not really."

  “I’m going back to the reception,” I told her.

  "What did Jay tell you?” Damnit, hadn’t she heard that curiosity killed the proverbial cat? Still, I didn’t feel I had much to risk if I told her. The investigation was stalled, and Laure had some insider information. Maybe she’d come to the rescue and get justice for Jay.

  “He said something about a warhead.”

  Laure paled. “Forget about it. You’re better than any of those people. Just leave it.”

  "What do you want me to leave? Can you explain it?”

  “Do you know Klein?”

  "Barely,” I said. “I’m here because of the consulate. He invited the whole staff.”

  "Do you know Arnie Logan?”

  "Vice president of sales? We met. Looks slick. Like he’s capable of anything.”

  "You need to watch out.”

  "You’re one of them!” I accused her, shocked by the realization. I got up and went over to stare out the window at Houston’s lights. Laure got up, and within a second she had slipped herself into my arms. I could not say a word, as suddenly her lips, warm and soft, were on mine. I had never experienced a kiss like that, nor the flutter in my stomach as I tried to retreat, to inhale. She kept clinging to me.

  "I’m scared.” And now she was wrapping me in her arms. Just then Barkat entered the room. Like an actor removing the layers of makeup from his face, Barkat was now stripped of his charisma and pleasant demeanor.

  "So you’re here,” he stated evenly to Laure. “Come with me, I want to introduce you to some people.” He ignored me, as well as the situation he’d found me in with his girlfriend. Maybe he’s used to it?

  "Mickey Markovsky,” I introduced myself.

  "I know,” Barkat said, not taking his eyes off Laure. “We met at the stadium. Before you went after Angela. What has Angela already told you?”

  "She didn’t have to tell me. Jay already told me.”

  "Who’s Jay?” Barkat’s perfect image shattered.

  "A cop,” I replied.

  "I’m not familiar,” he responded. “Do not be impressed by Angela. She invents stories just to get certain men into her bed. Do not believe a single word she has to say. I know what I am talking about.”

  He held Laure’s arm. “But Laure is not like that,” he continued, and she paled again. “We have a meeting downstairs now in Logan’s office. Will you join us?”

  I looked at Laure. What am I then? What have I won?

  Laure shook her head almost imperceptibly. It’s a trap!

  33.

  In the dim light, Logan’s office on the twenty-second floor looked like a high-budget film set’s recreation of the Roman Empire.

  Barkat went straight to the bar, beautifully camouflaged behind a bookshelf, and poured himself a bourbon. I refused the drink, still trying to understand what was going on.

  We had left Laure, shocked and worried, at the reception area. I was actually glad she wasn’t there; it made it easier to concentrate. Still, our recent contact meant that my adrenaline levels were still higher than I liked.

  Logan, the consummate salesman, was not attending the reception for some reason. He was sitting in his executive armchair, and to my amazement he was meticulously dressed in the uniform of a USAF colonel, with an impressive wall of ribbons, bars and medals on his chest. His impassive face reflected the dignity of his uniform, an expression of special importance.

  "What do you already know about the Liberator?” he shot at me, straight from his executive chair. He stretched, his face grimacing as if suffering intestinal discomfort.

  "The plane? A classic bomber.” I could not make heads or tails of it. The uniform. The office. Maybe he had not yet heard of the chase in Texas City?

  "Not the plane, the club.” The words came out of him with effort. He sounded unfocused.

  "You mean an invitation to the ceremony?”

  Barkat walked around the room, restless.

  "The Liberator is not just a club. The Liberator is a worldview. The victory of the Sons of Light over the Sons of Darkness. I am leaving for Galveston tomorrow. I have a commission in the National Guard as president of the club. Klein Aerospace has donated most of the budget. Do you understand what I mean? "

  "I think so.”

  Through his drunkenness, Logan skewered me with a penetrating look. “No, I do not think you understand. You just do not have what it takes.”

  I sighed, hoping he would get to the point.

  “You’ve had quite a day,” he said. So he had heard about my adventure in Texas City. He mused, “Twelve million dollars is a lot of money.” Slowly he strung his words together, and I attempted not to look surprised. “I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re likely to get into trouble. A great deal of money is not always a windfall.”

  “You mean that the money is marked. Yeah, I know that.”

  “No, you don’t know. This affair is far beyond you, by orders of magnitude. You’re putting much greater people than yourself at risk.”

  “Enough!” Barkat cut off Logan frantically. “You’re explaining this to the wrong man. We must reach a decision.”

  So that’s the point. I was undergoing a drumhead court-marital. “I’m not putting anyone at risk,” I said, checking the exits from the room. There were two relatively large windows, as well as the main door. “Everything I do has been authorized and sanctioned.”

  "Authorized and sanctioned?” Barkat, who was walking around nervously behind me, paused for a moment in amusement. “By whose authority, if I may ask?”

  "You’ll have no problem with me. Nor with the money.”

  "Certainly,” Barkat agreed with me.
“You knew the money was marked. Angela could have brought us all down. We have some very uncontrollable and irresponsible people among us. If any of them had put hands on the money, half of Houston would have been on our tail. We just have to ascertain that you don’t take anything of this story out of this room. "

  "What story?”

  "Beautiful!” Logan rejoiced. “That’s the spirit!”

  "Relax,” Barkat restrained him. “He really does not understand what’s going on."

  "I have only one serious problem,” I said.

  "Yes?” they asked, almost in unison.

  "Jeremiah.”

  “There is no such person,” Barkat replied. “There never has been. He has no social security number. He has no birth certificate. He is unknown and unrecognized. A mad eccentric who has never been real.”

  "Is he gone?” I was at sea yet again.

  "He’s one of those dangerous people who must disappear. You know, sometimes a pawn is sacrificed to win a queen.”

  "And Jay, rest in peace?”

  Barkat stood behind me. I checked that my path to the door was unobstructed.

  "What does that have to do with anything?” Logan’s voice rose to a squeaky pitch.

  "It has everything to do with it. They’re dead.”

  "That’s why it’s got nothing to do with it. They are dead. You do not want to join them. The dead are always the losers. Could there ever be a greater failure than that?” Logan scoffed.

  Barkat approached from behind. “My friend, he’s right. But we need to know that you understand that.” He said it like a bouncer.

  "Can I give you an answer tomorrow?"

  “No, we need an answer now.” For the first time, Logan got up from the executive chair. He’s half a head taller than me. It was not worth my while to challenge him. In any case, I needed to stall for time.

  "I’m with you,” I said, and the two had a hard time hiding their smiles.

  "For your own sake, I hope you’re telling the truth,” Barkat said, and for a change he sounded friendly. “And you can take Laure home. I still have some things to take care of here.”