The Consulate Conspiracy

by Oren Sanderson

"Thanks for the concern. Amparo, the person you’re talking about, is a real woman. More brave and honest than most diplomats I know. If something doesn’t look right to you, you can put whatever you want in your report and wipe your ass with it.”

  Hinenzon’s sigh was his only response.

  "By the way,” said Almog, returning his boots to the desk. “I met with Shuki Barkat yesterday. I just learned that you’re in charge of him administratively. What’s that about?”

  "What’s the problem with that?” Hinenzon raised his eyebrows. “Someone has to deal with him.”

  "I thought we were in charge of them. Professors on sabbatical, scientists. For example, the trio that got caught in Albuquerque.”

  "I have no problem transferring his case to you,” Hinenzon apologized and cut off the argument. “Please, it’s all yours.”

  "And what about official reports about his activities?”

  "That’s not my department,” Hinenzon announced. “That’s what the military attaché in Washington does.”

  “Moshik Erez? A good friend of mine.” Almog presses the intercom button. “Dorothy, get me General Erez in Washington.”

  Hinenzon went back to humming. Altering the lyrics to “Moishele mein Sohn.” The RAD was still trying to drive Almog crazy.

  The internal line beeped, and Almog pressed a button to turn on the speakerphone. “Moshik, good afternoon!” he said cheerily.

  “Ah, is that the governor of Texas I hear?” the IDF attaché responded, convivially.

  “We’re on speakerphone, Moshik. I have Hinenzon here from New York, I’m sure you know him.”

  “Hinenzon, hello!”

  Almog continued, “Do you know Shuki Barkat all?”

  “Oh, the Kahanist astronomer?”

  “Something like that. Do you know what he’s doing here?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. I wasn’t even aware that he was in your neck of the woods.”

  Almog offered his polite goodbyes and hung up, looking pointedly at his distinguished guest.

  “That’s strange,” Hinenzon murmured. “I think I feel a migraine coming on...” His mocking tone had disappeared, along with the infectious humming, to Almog’s relief.

  When Hinenzon left Almog’s office, and before he said goodbye to Noni, he called and cancelled his meeting with Barkat. He hurriedly bid farewell to Noni, explaining that the inspection had yielded such good results that he was going to return to New York the same day instead of staying the night.

  For a full week after Hinenzon left, Dorothy continued to hum Danileh Mein Sohn, which she explained was based on the Hasidic tune Meirkeh Mein Sohn by Rabbi Levi Isaac of Berdychiv, as she had learned in a Jewish Studies course at the university. Go figure.

  Almog had to beg her to switch to a new tune.

  36.

  I arrived at the Cadillac after having eaten nothing all day. I was relieved to decompress in the bar’s dim lighting. The Yankees-Red Sox game was on the giant television screens, and I was hypnotized by it. I started with a Caipirinha, immediately followed by a double order of ribs in spicy barbecue sauce, accompanied by a heaping pile of steak fries. It was the sort of meal to be eaten with one’s fingers, from beginning to end. Afterwards, they gave me a bowl of water with lemon to clean my hands..

  Sue Anne, in her seventh year of college at least and one of the oldest waitresses on staff, appreciated my look of rapture at the meal, placing in front of me a huge and beautiful glass of Miller, on a colorful coaster. From her apron pocket she took out another Miller coaster, one the back of which someone had written in sharp, slanting cursive: Bon appétit!

  “It came from the back table.”

  I looked toward the far wall, where Almog sat with someone with his back to me. He waved. Should I go over to him? Should I not? My ribs could not be neglected. I sank back into the plate. If Almog wanted something, he would not be ashamed to ask.

  Half-an-hour later, Boston was leading over New York, and Sue Anne took away my plate, full of bones, and brought me a new beer.

  "Good job,” Almog remarked over her shoulder, gesturing at the empty plate. He sat down next to me without waiting for an invitation.

  "They’re definitely worth it,” I recommended, but he explained that he had just finished a second dinner.

  “How are your studies going?”

  "So-so.” I was trying to understand what was bothering him. “I’m walking a tightrope. I need to put in more work.”

  “Whatever you do, you have to give it your all.” He adjusted his crotch, then thanked Sue Anne for the beer she offered him.

  “It was Dr. Green I was sitting with.” He tried to catch my eye. “Cardiologist, one of ours. Wanted to talk to me after a routine checkup. I was more comfortable here. I didn’t want to make some big drama out of it.”

  “What’s the problem?” I was really bothered by the thought of it.

  "He also has all kinds of ideas for investing in Israel.” Almog continued trying to read my gaze.

  "So what’s the drama?”

  "I don’t think it’s terribly serious. The tests, I mean.” I was silent. "Typical bullshit. I have to lose ten pounds. Reduce stress. I don’t care for that sort of talk. I do not believe it either. It’s all in your head. What kills you is not the fat in your blood or around you heart. What kills you is that you start reducing your effort. You start cutting it down slowly, but you only stop one morning when you wake up dead.” He wasn’t even trying to smile.

  "That’s pretty grim. Maybe there’s a middle ground?” I suggested.

  "I don’t know. This is all a little new for me. Tell me what you think of the consulate. Things I don’t know. You seem to be preoccupied.” He polished off another beer. “It’s only my third,” he defended himself, but there was already a gleam in his eyes.

  "I met someone,” I said.

  "Exceptional!” he exclaimed. “Affairs of the heart. Sweet sorrow, as they say.”

  I already regretted that I had started with this. He wasn’t the sort of guy you could have an intimate conversation with.

  I changed direction. “I keep getting into it with Shoshi.”

  “Shoshi, Shoshi,” he moaned. “You people just do not understand her. Oh Shoshi, Shoshi.” He shook his head sadly. “If only I were free!”

  “But I thought…”

  “If only I were free!” he reiterated, drunkenly weeping.

  “What could be good about Shoshi? That cannot be right,” I taunted him.

  “That cannot be?” He took offense, falling into my trap. “What do you know? Of course it could be. It’s all a matter of attitude. Have you ever learned how to tune up an engine? At the Kirya, at the General Staff, there was a top-notch mechanic, completely deaf. He could place his forehead on the radiator cap and concentrate. That’s how you tune up engines. It’s simply an art. You have to sense the vibrations.”

  "And Shoshi?”

  "What do you not understand? It’s the same thing. Like tuning up an engine.”

  “Put your forehead in the right place?”

  He ignored me. “This Shoshi is pure gold. You wouldn’t believe what she’s capable of.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Noni, the blubbering idiot, is not worth the dirt on the sole of her shoe.”

  “You must be joking!”

  "Not at all.” He burped.

  I couldn’t decide. Was this a fabrication of his, a fantasy? Or was this some approximation of the truth?”

  "Remember when he went to a consular conference in New York? For three days? The first night, she was the one who showed up at my place for… diplomatic consultations.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  "Believe it, believe it. I solved all her problems. I could not believe it either.” He hiccupped loudly. “I know
, she looks like a lump, but don’t be deceived by her unfortunate appearance. This girl is fire and brimstone. She knows techniques and moves that a piece of ass a thousand times hotter couldn’t dream of. Have you ever heard of multiple orgasms? She invented it. I have never seen anything like it. What sensitivity. Amazing!”

  “Seriously? What about you? You’re also having multiple orgasms?” He seemed to me to be an aging clown.

  “Look, when you spend a whole night with her, from evening until morning, and you plan it right — then you can do it. I heard that you too have quite a reputation in the community, for what it’s worth.”

  “A whole night?”

  “Twenty times! Don’t you know about the whiskey method?”

  “What does whiskey have to do with it?”

  "Listen to some expert advice.” He burped again. “You take a really full glass of whiskey. With ice. Lots of ice. And then you can live it up, in style, for the whole night. Slowly. It keeps you and it keeps ‘your friend’ nice and taut. And this Shoshi... whatever shape she may be in... I told you, she does not need much. Move a little, anything, and she goes crazy. She makes you feel like a man, and not many women do.” He sighed from the bottom of his heart.

  "But technically, you’re single!” I objected.

  Suddenly, his eyes refocused. “Unfortunately, that’s not true,” he declared. “And you — show some respect, okay?” He sighed again and deflated, talking to himself. “Honestly, I am not sorry. For the first time, I am not sorry. Amparo, my guardian angel. Understanding, supportive, if you know what I mean. Wonderful woman.”

  "For a long-term relationship?” I was still skeptical, as he downplayed the importance of the opposition from local Jews.

  "The Jewish community will not make waves,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “Outwardly, at least, they impersonate liberals, and I’m about to get the divorce papers soon. Aharona insisted. She wants to marry her new man, Ruby.”

  "But Amparo?”

  “You’re starting in too? What happened? Are you a John Bircher now? A Hinenzon? Amparo is a human being. Very human. Very simple. Now walk me to my car. Green’s nonsense about a slower pace could make anyone depressed.” He thought for a moment. “Careful, I need to be more careful. I really want to talk to you about something. Come to my place tomorrow. It’s not for the consulate.”

  37.

  Paul rambunctiously jumped from one sofa to another in the consul general’s suite. The five-year-old had close-cropped hair and brash almond eyes — and also had Almog wrapped around his little finger. We were sitting in the corner of the living room, a spectacular view before us. Almog was unsuccessfully trying to calm the child down. “Paul!”

  "You said my name?” Paul asked, approaching Almog with catlike steps. Almog reached out to grab the wild child, but with a joyous shout, he escaped back to the cushions and pillows.

  "Amparo is at the gym,” Almog explained. “What’s up with your latest love?”

  "She’s not back in town yet,” I updated laconically.

  "Don’t worry. She’ll come back,” he announced just as Paul pounced on him like a panther, knocking him over.

  "Meanwhile, this kid can get anything he wants from you,” I said.

  "No one can get anything from me unless I want to give it,” grumbled Almog. “But it is true that I love the little hellion.”

  "And his mother,” I added.

  "It’s a package deal,” Almog agreed with me, and that seemed to be the last word on the subject. “I saw O’Brien today,” he pivoted, finally getting to the point. Almog rarely hung out at the Asado or the Cadillac, instead spending every hour he could at home.

  "At the FBI office?” I was surprised. That was in open defiance of procedure.

  I waited patiently.

  "They have a lot against you, Mickey. He was interested in the possibility of my interrogating you unofficially.”

  "And…”

  "I did not give him an answer. He has good reason to be suspicious.” Almog was serious and matter-of-fact, as he was in difficult situations. In the meantime, I wasn’t worried.

  “Do you know he met with Noni?” I asked.

  "I didn’t know that. If I had known in time, I would have reprimanded Noni, but now things have gotten very complicated. Do you know Jeremiah Moses?”

  I waved to Paul to come closer, trying to stall for time. “Sounds familiar,” I said, and Paul jumped up and sat in my lap.

  "One of the demonstrators who came up to the consulate for that discussion. The FBI is looking for him. He called them and sang an entire opera about you.”

  "Could be. He’s a weird person. I talked to him when he was with us along with the other protesters, together with Noni.”

  "And aside from that, you’ve had nothing to do with him?”

  "I have no idea what he has against me. He’s always scribbling things down in a small notebook. He’s not all there.”

  "I hope you’re telling me the truth.”

  I didn’t answer.

  "O’Brien played it straight with me. It’s simply that you were the last to talk to Jay.”

  "That much is true.” Paul hopped off me and onto Almog. “I know it looks bad. I don’t have a good explanation.”

  "What should I say to O’Brien?”

  “That I know nothing. Let them make a request through the State Department, who can contact the Foreign Ministry in Jerusalem to allow them to interrogate me.”

  “They don’t have to do that. You know you’re playing with fire, right?”

  “Yeah,” I groaned. “Any day they could decide to kick me out of the country for good.”

  “Or they could throw you in prison. You’re no ambassador or consul, you’re just a foreign national working for the consulate. They know that. I don’t get why O’Brien is going through me at all.”

  “Because he doesn’t need to talk to me at all,” I replied. “He knows that he has no problem with me, but he hopes that you can help him get to the guilty party.”

  He sighed. “A month ago I couldn’t bear the thought that things were developing behind my back. Now I’m not sure anymore that I want to know what’s going on.”

  38.

  I got a call at the Cadillac at one in the morning.

  “Mickey.” I suddenly felt pressure in my ears. Like I was diving deep beneath the waves.

  "Laure.” I overcame the dryness in my throat. “Are you okay?”

  "Yes. No. I don’t know.” She paused, which drove me crazy. “I want to see you.”

  "Tell me you’re fine.”

  "I’ve been in harder situations before. I want to see you.”

  "Can you come here?”

  "That’s no good for me. Can I meet you at your place?”

  "Sure,” I said and hung up. The ringing in my ears was beginning to subside.

  As I got on the elevator, I smiled to myself. I was almost willing to hum something optimistic. Laure was back. I knew it couldn’t be that simple, but I ignored that. Also, I didn’t know what she really wanted from me, but this would be the first time having anyone over at my apartment. Still, things would work out in the end, I was sure. Maybe at the cost of working with difficult people, but in the end it was just business, right? I wasn’t paid to enjoy or like the guys around me. Who could say the people at the consulate were any saner than Logan’s monsters?

  Anyway, Laure was coming to me at Johnson Towers. No one had yet. My private kingdom. I was cautious and suspicious about such things, but there was something about her. Her mannerisms, speech, touches, looks — something told me I had found the one right for me. There could be no mistake. The small misunderstandings we could always straighten out later.

  However, the second I entered the apartment, that wonderful feeling fled — not just fleeing, but crashing and burnin
g. First of all, there was my one and only armchair, art nouveau, brown, soft, and comfortable. It lay smashed in the entryway.

  Beyond it, the apartment was upside down and ruined. The television screen was shattered, the pillows slashed.

  Worst of all, there was my B-24, the balsa model I had been working on for such a long time. Not much was left of it. What barbarian would do such a thing? The front turret of the plane had its two machine guns smashed as if someone had stepped on it. The tail unit was crushed. The rudder and antenna were gone. The French plastic Liberator, which I had so painstakingly painted, had its wings broken. The pilot, a special order from London, was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. The B-24 from California, whose wings I had just attached, was scattered around the room in pieces.

  What did this have to do with my long day, which refused to end? And where was Laure?

  The apartment door swung open wide, and she stood in the doorway. Again those eyes, torn in terror. Right behind her was the pimply face of Jeremiah Moses, who shot a superior look at me as he hit me in the temple with what looked like the butt of a gun, before everything went black.

  The loss of consciousness protected me for a short time only. Despite appearances, there was no quiet or peace in my enforced slumber. I lay there heard the shrieking sirens of firetrucks and police cars, felt the flashes of cameras stabbing straight into my brain. My stomach was sending out warning signals that I was about to vomit. My cervical vertebrae reported that they were tired of holding my head, on the verge of disintegration.

  Just when I felt that it was time to let go, that they would get along without me, I heard Dorothy announce that I was regaining consciousness. I wasn’t interested in going back anywhere, and I wanted them to move on without me; but she was too close to my nose, with a handful of leaves that stank so much that I really had to open my eyes.

  "Sorry,” I blurted from a parched throat. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  "With such good manners, you’ll go far,” she approved. “What exactly fell on you?"