by Erez Aharoni
“Same shit. Wherever you go, you leave a trail of dead bodies. What happened now? I swear to you, your honor, you’re a dangerous person to be around.”
“This time it’s someone who’s been dead for ten years. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I need help from someone I can trust. And this time you can bring the big teddy bear with you, we’re going to need him.”
“Give me twenty minutes and we’ll be there. But this time we need to talk about payment. You’re asking for too many favors based on a single piece of advice. You get that, right? Business is business.”
“No problem. I’ll pay whatever you ask.” Ofer made a quick calculation. There was a chance he wouldn’t even survive the worse week of his life. He didn’t care about committing to Morris. He had no intention of stopping the autopsy Yoav had suggested now, no matter what the cost was.
In less than twenty minutes, two figures were seen marching towards the gate. One short, with a spring in its gait, the other huge and clumsy. When they got closer, Ofer saw they were both wearing yarmulkes. He greeted them heartily and introduced Yoav to them.
Even in the dark, one could see that Yoav’s face was filled with aversion. He did not think Ofer’s assistance would look quite like this.
With combined effort, within seconds the four of them removed the marble stone above his father’s grave and laid it on the dirt road. Ofer couldn’t stop himself. He reached his hand down to the grave and crushed the clods of dirt between his fingers. His heart was beating wildly. A lump of tears was stuck in his throat and about to break outside. He swallowed it quickly. He swore not to cry anymore, no matter what.
“That’s it,” said Ofer, “you’re free to go.”
“Whose grave is this? Who’s Mordechai Angel?” Morris refused to leave.
“My father,” said Ofer.
Morris came closer and gave him a hug. “Your father is the person you need to respect the most. In that case, this one’s for free. On me. Sorry I asked for something in return. Why didn’t you say something?”
Ofer didn’t answer. Morris’ gesture surprised him.
“Next time there’s a memorial service, let us know. We’ll come and say Kaddish.”
Morris and Ijou turned on their heels and disappeared quietly. Ofer was grateful for the ability of characters like Morris to not ask any unnecessary questions.
Without saying anything, Yoav began to work. He got up onto the exposed grave and began to dig furiously. The sound of the shovel hitting the ground was deafening. Ofer was afraid they’d alert half the city.
After ten minutes, he replaced Yoav. He sweated like a horse and panted from the effort.
Ten more minutes and they reached the upper tiles. Ofer remembered well how they were placed on his father’s body. He remembered how he was bothered by the thought that his father would never be able to rise with such a weight burdening him.
Yoav knew the difficult moment was coming. He traded places with Ofer once more and insisted that he stay away from the grave.
Ofer leaned on a nearby stone. The grave of Soltana Yakobov. Her picture was engraved on the gray marble marker. Soltana had lived more than eighty-eight years, was a wonderful mother and grandmother and an amazing wife. At least that’s what the tombstone said.
His father had died so young, and none of his good qualities were engraved on his gravestone, he thought dolefully.
Yoav took out a pair of surgeon’s latex gloves, tugged them on and disappeared into the open grave. Ofer assumed that Yoav knew what he was doing. Ten nerve-racking minutes passed, in which piles of dirt were flung outside, before Yoav emerged into the outer world again. His gloved hands held a sealed plastic box.
“That’s it? That’s everything?” asked Ofer. Suddenly, the thought occurred to him that he had no idea what Yoav intended to take out of the grave.
“That’s it. No need for anything else. We have the remains of your father. I’ve got enough material to conduct the examination.” He was covered in sand and his clothes were wrinkled, but his eyes were twinkling with excitement.
Ofer was glad Yoav hadn’t asked him to get inside the grave. The thought of picking through the shrouds or bones or tissue or whatever remained of them, was beyond his ability to bear. At least there was no coffin to pry open since it was a traditional Jewish burial.
Yoav began to refill the grave, and Ofer joined him with renewed strength.
They tried to put back the gravestone, but it proved to be too heavy for them.
“I guess we let them go too soon. Maybe we should leave this on the trail and tomorrow morning the burial society will put it back?” Ofer was now sorry he had let Morris and Ijou go.
“We can’t leave it like this,” said Yoav decisively.
They made tremendous efforts. Finally, they managed to lift one corner and place it on the edge of the grave.
Ofer positioned his entire body beneath the stone and lifted it on his back, while Yoav supported it from behind. With the tremendous burden of the huge marble gravestone on his back and shoulders, he truly felt the full weight of his guilt, guilt that he had neglected his duty to learn the circumstances of his father’s death, and guilt that he was disrupting his peace in his eternal resting place.
The stone was finally back on the grave. They covered up their tracks as well as they could. They both knew they weren’t doing a perfect job.
“If we’ll stay here another minute I’ll faint,” Ofer respired heavily. Yoav’s expression made it clear he felt the same.
They went on their way.
Yoav broke the silence after a few minutes, practical as always. He fished out what remained of the Chartreuse bottle. “Wet your throat a little,” he said to Ofer, “it kills the discomfort softly.”
Ofer didn’t hesitate and took a long sip from the gradually emptying bottle.
“I’m taking your father with me… well, not exactly your father. Whatever’s left of him… bones that have not disintegrated yet along with remains of hair and tissue. I think it’s from the jaw or chest area. Stop making faces. We’re all made of the same materials and we’ll all eventually disintegrate in the same way. In forty-eight hours at the most we’ll get information that may illuminate your way,” said Yoav.
Ofer nodded. He wasn’t in the mood for heart-to-hearts or black humor.
He held the sealed box on his knees. His father was suddenly so close to him. Ten years of separation had instantly transformed into a close and rattling proximity with a plastic box.
Yoav drove home, zigzagging his way. The Chartreuse was demonstrating its intoxicating qualities. The traffic lights blinked in psychedelic celebration with a myriad of colors. Yoav dropped Ofer off at the corner of Allenby Street and Nahalat Binyamin.
Ofer regretfully gave up the box and deposited it in Yoav’s hands.
“Take care of him,” he said, “you know how much I loved him. Even though according to what they say, I’m not sure he deserved it.”
Yoav didn’t ask who said it and what was said. Ofer swung on his way. He went up to his apartment, barely dragging himself up the stairs. He forced himself to take a quick cold shower and dropped on the bed like a limp rag. He placed a large bowl next to the bed in case the yellow liquid he had just poured into his stomach made him throw up again.
That night, he dreamt that masked burglars had broken into his apartment again. He didn’t have any strength left to resist or fight them. They came to his bed and asked him why he was desecrating graves. Then they taped strange electrodes on his head and sucked all data of his childhood from his memory.
He was startled by a loud knock on the door.
Ofer sat up in bed and tried to catch his breath and convince himself the knocking on the door was not real but merely the finishing chord of a bad dream.
But there it was again.
He went to the door, leaning on the walls so as not to fall flat on the floor. Severe nausea assaulted him and his head threatened to explode. Apparently, it was better
to drink virus-infected whiskey than that deadly Chartreuse. His heart was beating like a tom-tom drum.
He tried to think logically about what he should do next.
“Who is it?” Ofer asked in a low voice he hoped concealed the fear that made his entire body tremble.
Chapter 25
Dr. Aryeh Friedman examined the plastic plates piled with donuts. A nauseous feeling rose from the depths of his stomach. It was the usual refreshment served in meetings, but this time the thought of food and even more, its sight and smell, filled him with revulsion. In spite of his age, his figure was meticulously trim, and he could never understand people’s obsession with carbohydrates.
The Viromedical factory’s boardroom, which was attached to the CEO’s office, was filled with people.
He counted twelve people around the oval table. He knew most of them. Three senior officials from the institute, a representative from the Ministry of Health with a wide-eyed assistant, three representatives from the Ministry of Defense, a representative from the prime minister’s office and two representatives from the General Security Service.
He was supposed to conduct the meeting, but the senior representative of the General Security Service wanted to say a few words first. He was a dark-skinned man with thick hair and a wrinkled face that implied he spent much of his time out in the field.
Everyone in the room called him Abu-Daud, even though his real name was Reuben Haruvi; Friedman told himself that he must find out the origin of this nickname.
“We’ve conducted a thorough investigation of this Rodety,” Haruvi went straight to the point. “The man used to be the salt of the earth. As you know, he held a senior position in the industry and had excellent ties with the institute. He left Israel and moved abroad a few years ago. It’s unclear what made him retire. We don’t know of any work or family-related problems, even though he was married at least twice and recently had a relationship with a European woman. He lived in England but travelled all over the world. We’ve found information about arms deals in Zambia. He sold the Africans some junk he managed to smuggle from Belarus. We’ve found information about connections he had with dubious elements in Azerbaijan. To summarize, the man conducted shady arms deals all over the globe. We couldn’t find any clear connections with international terrorism, but there’s evidence the man was stretching the limits of the law thin with deals that involved a lot of money.”
“So the main question here is whether he was an innocent man who was being used or whether he himself was taking part in a biological terrorism plan,” suggested the Ministry of Health representative.
“We have no conclusive answers, but we were able to discover he had ties with senior Russian mafia members, some of them located here in Israel.”
Complete silence fell in the boardroom, and all present listened attentively.
“He had ties with a man named Igor Harsovsky. To be more precise, the almost late Igor Harsovsky. Harsovsky is an oligarch who was wounded by an unknown shooter. Here in Tel Aviv, a few days ago.”
“What was their relationship and how did you discover it?” Friedman was interested.
“Very simple. We checked his cellular phone records. Rodety had spoken with him more than once and probably met with him as well. We still don’t have a complete picture of what these two were doing together, but the proximity of the occurrences is troubling. We’re working on it—”
“So what does it all mean?” Friedman barged into his words. “We are not detectives. Our main concern is preventing the outbreak of an epidemic. An epidemic that can cause the death of many people. I thought the purpose of this meeting was to discuss and approve urgent necessary actions. We almost stopped all factory activities because of your request to declare it an emergency center. Let’s focus on this and then we can hear more gossip about the phone calls between these two people.”
Reuben Haruvi was not insulted. “Aryeh, please don’t get upset. You asked, so I gave you an answer. What you do with the information is entirely up to you,” he said.
“You’d be surprised,” said Dr. Friedman. “This is going to be a problem for all of us.”
Silence settled in the room again. They all waited to hear what Dr. Friedman had to say.
“Friends, there’s no time to lose. We are talking about an epidemic that can cause the death of hundreds of thousands in Israel. The main question we must answer is whether we should begin an immediate mass vaccination process. Such an action will cause hysteria and wild speculation, but I don’t see any other solution. Furthermore, I assume that if this course of action isn’t immediately pursued, we are taking an unacceptable risk. It could very well be that the decision should be taken by higher authorities, but there’s no way to avoid it. I want to remind you all—Israel has knowingly acted against international treaties by not destroying the deadly virus. It is kept is not only in Russia and the United States, but also here, in Israel. And I would like to draw your attention to another matter. International supervision will be considerably increased. Next month a delegation will be arriving with exactly that purpose in mind. Why do you think the factory is up for privatization? The laboratory must be destroyed. I already have all the necessary approvals.”
No one even considered interfering with the doctor’s words, and he cleared his throat and continued, “It is true that when Rodety worked here, he had access to the laboratory. We won’t be able to hide this fact, if it happens to surface. This will immediately bring up the speculation that Israel did not destroy the virus. But I don’t think it’s relevant or even important at the moment. This is not our first priority.”
“And what about the operation? What about ‘Fire in a Haystack’? Are we ready? When should we begin the mass vaccination process?” It was the Ministry of Health representative who asked the question.
Doctor Friedman answered, “It appears that the virus is not currently active. Rodety was the only patient who passed away. There were others at risk, but so far they seem to be fine. As long as there’s no mass hysteria, I think we can wait. If the media discovers the story, we’ll announce a vaccination operation in order to calm the general public. But at this stage I suggest that we wait… any objections?”
Before anyone had the chance to respond, the door opened and Friedman’s secretary entered and handed him a handwritten note. Friedman read its contents: “There’s a problem with the laboratory inventory count. We need you urgently.”
He apologized to everyone, told them that he was needed elsewhere and left the boardroom.
“What happened?” he asked his secretary.
“We received a report from the laboratory that an important test tube is missing.”
“What test tube?”
“This is what I was told…” She showed him what she had written in her notebook – UUVAR1. “They said they can’t find it anywhere. They fear there was a break-in in the laboratory.”
“Get me the factory’s security officer right away. Give instructions to close the gates. No one goes in or out until we clear this up. And get back into the boardroom and ask Reuben Haruvi to come to my office immediately.”
Almost half an hour had passed. Haruvi had left Friedman’s office, so had the factory’s security officer. Dr. Friedman pressed the remote button again and watched the movie on the screen in front of him.
He had no doubts regarding the identity of the handsome figure in the short skirt that was seen leaning over the laboratory refrigerator. He exchanged the CD in the device and ran the movie forward until he saw her again, walking out of the laboratory building with confidence. “How did that miserable… how did she manage to get inside…” he mumbled. The confusion on his face gradually transformed into uncontrollable rage.
He returned to his desk and dialed a number he knew by heart.
“You’re never going to believe this,” he said without any niceties or introductions, “Someone has broken into the laboratory and stolen a test tube…” He felt a great we
ariness spreading in his entire body.
Chapter 26
The large house at 26 Hanof Street, Savion, was hidden behind tall palm trees. Gali pressed the electric bell at the entrance and waited patiently. A laborer from Thailand or the Philippines opened the gate and led her inside.
The pathway was paved with railroad ties. Rock gardens with well-nurtured cacti accompanied the winding pathway all the way to the huge house. A shaded swimming pool could be seen in the distance.
A young woman opened the large wooden doors, greeted her and shook her hand.
“Hello, I’m Ina, Igor’s wife.” She was a bit taller than Gali but just as skinny. She had green eyes and long blonde hair that covered her shoulders. Gali didn’t need to look at the label to know she was wearing Christian Dior.
“I’m attorney Gali Shviro, from the association that Igor is supporting. I’m so sorry about everything that has happened. I hope Igor is feeling well,” Gali said, and for a moment regretted the fact she had introduced herself as a lawyer. What did that have to do with visiting an ailing person?
The young woman nodded, led her guest inside and sat her down in one of the plastic chairs that were scattered on the large garden deck.
“He’s a special man,” said the beautiful woman and toyed with the diamond ring on her finger. Gali recognized a lot of carats. “We’ve been together for two years.” Her Russian accent was very noticeable. “We met here. I emigrated from Koltsovo. It’s a small city in Russia; you’ve probably never heard about it. I came here by myself with no family and I met Igor. Could you believe two people are coming from the same distant country to meet here of all places?”
“It sounds like a great miracle.” Gali made some quick calculations and reached the conclusion that Igor must be at least thirty years older than his wife.
“You have any idea who would want him dead?” Ina asked.
Gali shook her head to indicate she didn’t. “I have no idea. Why do you think they wanted to kill him specifically? There were many other people in the room.”
