by Erez Aharoni
Two men entered the conference room in a hurry. Gali did not notice their arrival and continued to talk to herself and rehearse. The speakers that played soft music went silent. Some inner sense told Gali that someone had tampered with the electricity.
The two men were dressed in dark clothes, their faces wore foreboding expressions. They walked through the audience determinedly, drew close to Gali and asked her to step aside with them. When she asked them to identify themselves, they presented her with miniscule plastic cards. She didn’t have a chance to read the details they bore.
The taller and darker of the two said in a low voice, “My name is Itzik and this is Yossi. Our last names are not relevant. We work for the General Security Service. We came to let you know this press conference cannot continue. You’ll need to come with us now.”
Gali turned pale. At the same moment, the lights in the conference room were extinguished. Sounds of surprise and embarrassment were heard from all corners.
The man named Itzik held Gali’s arm gently but firmly and led her to the back room.
“You can’t do this,” she fumed.
“Oh, yes we can. We have a warrant instructing you to shut your mouth regarding any information about the Viromedical factory and the activities that take place behind its walls. In addition, you need to immediately give us all the information and material you possess. It doesn’t matter how it’s stored. Papers, CDs, hard discs, flash drives. No wisecracking or legal stunts. Got it?”
“So what if you’re from the General Security Service? You’re not allowed to do this!” said Gali, feeling a large lump forming in her throat and tears about to burst from her eyes.
“We know you obtained the material by illegal means; we also suspect some of it may have been forged. There is proof that you and your association have committed criminal acts, some of which can be considered treason. Do you realize how serious these accusations are?”
“What are you talking about?” Gali tried to fake innocence, while attempting to assess what evidence they had.
“You know perfectly well what we are talking about. And you should also know, honorable attorney Shviro, that the punishment for such crimes in our country is a long, and I mean very long, period of incarceration. So you’d better pull yourself together and start cooperating as of this moment if you would like to save your little ass from a very serious sentence.”
The noise of a crashing table and loud shouts were heard from the darkened conference room.
Gali identified the voice of Giora. He was screaming and shouting. She found it difficult to believe he had lost his composure, but apparently the usually polite and quiet guy was now causing quite a commotion. Perhaps he was intentionally doing that? Of course he was. For a moment, she regretted not raising her voice earlier to draw the journalists’ attention to the ambush that had been prepared for her.
The two men decided to momentarily leave Gali in the back room and head for the conference room. She heard Giora still carrying on loudly and could only assume they went there to deal with him.
Her cellular phone rang. She ignored it, but it continued to ring. She answered the call. The voice on the other end of the line was very familiar, yet at the same time, very strange.
It took her a few seconds to realize who the caller was.
“What happened?” Her face paled. “Where are you?” she asked. “I’ll be right there.”
She marched to the door. Itzik and Yossi from the General Security Service were busy trying to contain Giora.
At the entrance of the small room she saw Naomi, one of the association members, looking frightened and upset. “I apologize, but something personal happened…it’s urgent…I need to leave immediately,” Gali whispered to her.
“What happened, Gali? Who are these people and what do they want from you? And what about the press conference?”
“I’ll explain everything later. I need to get out of here.”
An idea suddenly came to her. Two days before that, Naomi had told her she had moved in with her boyfriend, and had not yet vacated her previous apartment.
“Tell them you don’t know where I went, all right? And Naomi…one more small request…can I spend the night in your old apartment?”
“All right, sure…here are the keys…” Naomi took a small bundle of keys from her pocket and gave it to Gali, too shocked to ask any questions.
Gali looked around. The darkness in the conference room and the sounds of the commotion distracted the attention of all those present. She ran from the small room towards the stairway.
In less than three minutes she was in her Mini Minor, speeding towards the old Central Bus Station, trying to contain the train of thoughts and fears that was racing through her mind.
Chapter 39
Accountant Saul Yanovski’s office was located in a crumbling building on Levontin Street. Had it been preserved, the ancient building would have looked like a palace. The secretary in the lobby was unfriendly, unlike her employer, whom Ofer remembered to be an extremely pleasant man.
“What do you want, sir?” she asked Ofer in an extremely unpleasant way.
“I came to see Mr. Yanovski. I need to see him right away. My name if Ofer and I work for Geller, Schneider and Associates. He knows me.”
She had a look that very plainly said, “Get the hell out of here and never come back without scheduling an appointment.” Yanovski had heard the conversation from his office and rushed outside to greet him.
He immediately saw that Ofer was upset. “Good to see you, man. My, my, how you’ve grown! How goes the internship? How’s your mother?” he said and led him with kindness towards his office. His desk, as well as the floor, was laden with piles of files and documents. Ofer had never seen such organized disorganization.
“I’m mostly doing fine, thank you. I came to see you about my father,” Ofer said directly. “My mother told me you were the one who took care of his estate. She told me you’d be able to answer some of my questions,” he spoke fast so as not to continue with the pleasantries. That wasn’t what he went there for.
Yanovski scratched his large bald head. Ofer remembered that movement. He retreated and sat next to an ancient writing desk covered with documents.
“Why now of all times, child, why would you want to wake up the dead?”
“I’m not a child anymore. You yourself called me a man just a moment ago. It’s time that I know the truth.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything. Everything you know about his death.”
“That’s a long story. I’m not sure now’s the right time, but if you came all the way here and you insist, I’ll try to tell you what I know. I need something to wet my throat with first.”
He offered Ofer a seat on the black leather sofa at the end of the room, opened the cupboard next to his desk and took out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. From afar, it looked like a Jim Beam bourbon bottle because of its rectangular base and long neck. Ofer wasn’t certain, but he knew Yoav would recognize it in a second had he been there with him.
Yanovski carefully poured half a glass, sniffed the drink, and then drank it in a single gulp. He didn’t offer Ofer a drink, apparently considering him to be a child after all. Ofer didn’t say anything, even though his throat desperately cried out for some moisture, bourbon or not. But he remembered well what had happened the last time he had drunk someone else’s beverage.
“Your father held a senior position in the Viromedical factory… a factory that is actually a kind of top secret organization. The kind people don’t talk about. People such as your father are drawn to such businesses in the same way moths are drawn to fire. He made some sort of deal without informing his superiors… you’ve never heard anything about it?” Yanovski raised his eyes and passed his free hand over his bald head.
“No.”
“Things got out of hand, which is more often than not the case when conducting such deals. He was suspected of ille
gal activities. They were about to present him with an indictment, and a trial was about to start. He died before that.”
“What was he charged with?”
“What does it matter? Dead is dead. You’re going to be a lawyer, not a pathologist. I suggest that you leave him alone.”
Ofer stubbornly kept quiet.
Yanovski continued, “Add the family’s financial difficulties and fear of the mark of Cain such a trial can put on your forehead. Trust me, it’s enough to bring down any man, even one as strong as your father.”
“Where’s all the material?” Ofer abruptly asked.
“What material?”
“The material the factory managers gave you. During the shiva. A yellow folder with documents. I was right next to you when you received it.”
Yanovski gave him a long stare. His soft eyes filled with tears. He felt as though he had spoken too much. “You’re stubborn. Just like your old man was…perhaps it’s in the office archive. Let me check.”
He went out of the room and headed to the back of the building. Ofer followed him down the corridor, across the faded carpets. The frozen-faced secretary gave him another angry stare.
Ofer waited outside as Yanovski was swallowed in a storeroom full of dusty file boxes. Five minutes later, he emerged. Beneath his arm was the folder. The original yellowish color had turned into an antique brown.
“Here it is. I didn’t think I’d be able to find it. I thought we’d shredded the material or that it was stored in the attorney’s office.”
“What attorney’s office?” asked Ofer.
Yanovski gave him a long stare. He had smiling, friendly eyes. His large bald head and constant smile made his face look like a giant “smiley” icon. A wrinkle that indicated worry stretched from the corners of his mouth when he said, “Geller, Schneider and Associates. You’re familiar with them, aren’t you?”
Ofer didn’t reply. He untied the string around the cardboard file and began to go over the documents. There were bank statements and handwritten letters. Ofer read them carefully.
“These are your father’s letters. He confesses to all the crimes he committed there. The evidence against him didn’t leave him any choice.”
“That’s not my father’s handwriting,” said Ofer with determination.
“Are you sure?” Yanovski’s eyes widened.
“A hundred percent sure. I know his handwriting. I have a million letters of his. That’s not his handwriting. See that Y? That’s not the way he wrote it, and he used to curl his S’s. And there are many other dissimilarities… you never checked it?”
Yanovski’s face turned white. “The truth is…no…I didn’t. But others have. Perhaps you’re wrong?”
Ofer felt the familiar cold sweat covering his entire body. The all-too-familiar stomachache was back. “Can I have a drink?” asked Ofer.
Yanovski hurried to pour him some bourbon and refilled his own glass.
“Tell me, do you think my father really committed suicide?” asked Ofer in a shivering voice after he had drunk.
The smile was wiped from Yanovski’s round face. “I’m afraid I do.”
“How do you know that for a fact?” asked Ofer.
“I was there. They called me to identify the body. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I’ll never forget it. Sixth floor. By the sea. I remember exactly how the room looked. I don’t think I should go into detail…”
“Go, go. I can handle it,” Ofer nearly begged.
“I don’t know why you find it necessary, but if you insist. The room was a mess. There were dozens of documents all over the floor. He was lying naked in bed on his back. It was awkward to see him in such a state. Although I’d seen him naked before, while we were in the army together. Still… He had only his socks on. That was weird…”
Yanovski paused and toyed with his empty glass. “It’s very complicated. It’s been years. Your father was a close friend and a special man. I saw him fading away. That wasn’t the man I had known. I was hoping the wounds had already healed. I’m terribly sorry to hear you’re dealing with all this now.”
“It’s now or never. I’ve got precious little time.”
“Why? Are you feeling unwell? You’re so pale, and you’re shivering. What’s wrong with you?”
Two more days, Ofer thought, only two more days for the fucking incubation process to end. What if it can’t count? What if the process is accelerated because my body is so weak and tired? Ofer closed his eyes, he wasn’t about to share his existential fears with Yanovski. “I’m all right. You have nothing to worry about.” Ofer made an effort to quiet the storm of emotion that had washed over him.
“All right, I won’t,” Yanovski pretended he was convinced.
“And what was the source of the money that was deposited in my father’s account? Did you check that? You’re an accountant, aren’t you? And where’s the money? We lived like beggars after father died. Mother could barely provide for us.”
“In all honesty, I never checked. The factory demanded and received all the money in the account. They claimed it was an advance for the information he… provided.”
“And what did you do? What have you all done, you and your friends? If you saw he was going down, why didn’t you offer him a helping hand?” Ofer raised his voice.
“We tried. Believe me. We all begged to meet with him when he shut himself in that hotel room. But he refused. Severed all connections.”
“Who is ‘we’”? Ofer insisted.
“Myself, other friends from our army unit. You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not important anymore,” mumbled Ofer. “Anyway, thanks for everything.”
He turned around and ran away, still holding the folder, before Yanovski could see how difficult it was for him to keep his calm.
Even the iceberg behind the reception desk gave him an astonished look.
Chapter 40
Ofer walked along Levontin Street. The thoughts kept spinning in his head.
My father was set up. He didn’t do any of the things they attributed to him. Someone framed him. Someone forged his handwriting and wrote a fabricated confession. There’s probably a good explanation for the money transferred to the account as well. Who would want to do something like that and why? Why didn’t Father share with Rodety, his boss, the fact that he was accused falsely? Rodety can’t be asked any longer…If only I had known all this on that evening we met.
He started the motorcycle, lost in thought. All at once, he remembered he still had Rodety’s fancy bag. How could I have forgotten to take it up to the office when I met with Brick and Geller?
He opened the pannier and took it out. A screech of tires came from behind. He turned around. A white Citroën Berlingo was coming up on him with great speed. The driver slowed down as he neared Ofer, and the man in the passenger seat sent a long arm towards the bag. Ofer wasn’t able to see his face. His helmet was already on, and his body was turned back in an uncomfortable position.
Ofer clung to the bag with all his might. The thief didn’t let go either, and Ofer was dragged alongside the vehicle for about thirty feet before the thief let go. Ofer lay awkwardly on the road. He did not feel the chafing wounds on his feet caused by the friction with the asphalt. He rose quickly and jumped on his motorcycle.
He sped the motorcycle forward and chased the thieves’ vehicle. His heart was beating wildly. The white Berlingo was racing away. It accelerated into Menachem Begin Road and crossed the intersection, ignoring the red light. Ofer looked frantically to his right and left then crossed after it. The Berlingo picked up speed and turned towards the old Central Bus Station. Ofer didn’t let go and continued to chase it.
The car reached the entry to the subterranean parking lot on Negev Street. The entrance was open. There was no gate, barrier or guard. The car was swallowed inside. Ofer continued after it. He slowly drove down a line of vehicles, searching for the white car.
He located it even though its h
eadlights were off. There were no pedestrians or moving vehicles in the parking lot. Ofer brought his bike closer, when the driver suddenly turned the wheel sharply and hit the gas. Ofer’s attempts to take the bike through the sharp turn did not succeed. He tried to memorize the vehicle’s license plate without much success. The bike slid across the aisle with Ofer beneath it. He wasn’t able to avoid its weight and was slammed against the wall. A sharp pain pierced his body and was slowly extinguished until it became mellow and distant. Ofer sank into a deep sleep.
When he woke up, his entire body was aching. He was sprawled beneath a tall vehicle. The bike lay a few feet away from him, crushed and battered from its impact against the wall. The pain was pounding inside his head and his feet did not obey him. He tried to move his limbs slowly but to no avail.
I’m losing consciousness, he barely managed to say to himself. He could not recall what had happened and why he was there, lying painfully on the floor of a parking lot. He remembered taking off his helmet.
When he woke up again, it seemed to him an eternity had passed. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to eight. I’ve been lying here for at least twenty minutes, he guessed, feeling his body, counting his limbs and trying to assess the damage. He managed to straighten up and lean on the wheel of the vehicle was lying under but fell down again.
No vehicles or people were around. The motorcycle was lying on its side, not too far from him. Fuel had leaked from it and created a large puddle. The pannier was closed. Rodety’s bag was lying a few feet away from it. His assailants were in a hurry to escape and had not noticed that it had fallen from Ofer’s hands when he crashed into the wall. Ofer estimated the distance to the bag. There wasn’t any chance that he could manage to crawl all the way there, he thought with disappointment.
In spite of the excruciating pain, he took his cell phone out of his pocket. He called Yoav. Yoav didn’t answer.
