The Critical Offer

by Yitzhak Nir

  “Thank you, Adam,” he said and paused for a moment. “That was a long evening. Go home.”

  “Yes, I’m tired as well. Good night, Gersh. Take it easy.”

  “I’ll try. Hey, Adam, wait a minute! When will you be in the U.S. again?”

  “I already told you. I’m flying to Boston in two days. I’m taking over a ship whose captain got sick. After three days of unloading and reloading, we’ll sail southwards to Norfolk, Virginia, load military equipment and return home!”

  “Do me a favor.”

  “Your wish is my command, Chief!” he said, standing up straight, clicking his heels and saluting grotesquely as he liked to do, his white ponytail floating down his back and a cynical smile broadening on his pale face.

  “When you land in Boston rent a car and take a trip to Manchester, Connecticut. Find out who lives at 33 Sycamore Avenue and let me know.”

  “I understand that’s her father or someone connected with her?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Thy will be done, Gersh!”

  “Good night, Adam. Take care of yourself!”

  “You should also be on your guard, Chief. Good night!”

  * * *

  A sickle moon rose in the east and the lawn was soon covered with dew.

  The black dragon hovered patiently at an altitude of sixty feet, swallowed up in the night’s darkness. It followed Shauli as he accompanied Adam to a taxi waiting outside with its engine running and lights on. The dragon continued to cruise silently above the vehicle until it reached the apartment at the corner of Nordau Boulevard and Nahum Street. From there it turned southbound and landed noiselessly in front of the red flag whose five golden stars were glowing indifferently in the darkness of the Tel Aviv night.

  An Evening Facing the Sea

  March 19th, 2025

  “Tell me, Arnon, am I breaking the law?”

  “No, but if you don’t report it soon and get her security clearance, then you definitely are. You’ve been in a relationship with her for twenty days, haven’t you?

  “Yes. So do you think I’m in trouble?”

  “Definitely.”

  They were sitting on the balcony at Argaman Towers, five minutes’ walk from the beach, facing west. Behind them, a mile and a half away, it was possible to discern an office building – his headquarters - among the dusty pine trees.

  Attorney-at-law Arnon Segev, tall and armed with a silvery beard, fixed him with a long stare, as though estimating the strength of an unknown adversary. They had already known one another back then, at the kibbutz.

  He was an “outside kid” as well, a teenager who had been abandoned by his parents; they had become friends and respected one another from that time on. His talent for recognizing weakness and fear, greed and ambition had given him a definite advantage in his criminal cases.

  “She lives two floors above you, on the tenth floor. In an hour I’m supposed to meet her and her father there.”

  The lawyer polished his glasses facing the sunset and returned them to his nose.

  They sat quietly and stared at the slowly darkening horizon. Two glasses of water stood on the table next to them. Evening clouds began covering the sky, it was warm and the air was still. A reddish sun slid into the sea, its light no longer dazzling. Soon it would be hidden by the darkened silhouette of the hotel standing on the shore opposite a golden firmament, and would sink into the hazy horizon between the sky and the steel-gray sea.

  Another day over… Gershon said to himself. “Arnon, as a friend and a lawyer, what is your advice?”

  Arnon Segev delayed his answer, playing with the glass in his hand.

  “Tell me, Gershon, and I apologize in advance, how much time has passed since your wife threw you out and became religious? It’s not an idle question. You’re asking me for advice and I need to know who I’m talking with. Who is the man who has gotten himself into such a situation? I know how you appear to others, but give me a small insight into the real you. Who are you in your own eyes?”

  Gershon was surprised. He hadn’t been prepared for that. “Look, we got divorced many years ago. The twins were very young. And she didn’t throw me out!”

  “Okay. But why does a good girl from the kibbutz after ten years of marriage run away from a handsome, charming, talented and successful man like you, and even more amazingly, beyond the mountains of darkness to a yeshiva in Jerusalem? Did God appear to her in a dream or could she just simply not stand the cold blowing from your direction?”

  “Leave it alone. If that’s the direction you’re going in, thanks for the hospitality and the water. I can manage on my own,” he replied, not veiling his anger and unwilling to reveal such emotional matters.

  “Fine, Gershon, but just to set the record straight, as they say, you should know that I was always jealous of you. You were always so closed, so arrogant. You were so preoccupied with yourself the whole time that you didn’t notice how much others cared about you. But you didn’t let them. You always looked at all of us from above, and not only because you were a pilot. But now you’re asking for my help, so I’ll put it another way, and don’t be offended. We don’t have any time to waste. Do you love her? Or is it that your soul is a bit frozen and the fact that your ego is flattered that a beautiful Chinese woman who is twenty years younger than you puts on a show for you once a week, causing you to be so obsessed by her? Please tell me the truth.”

  Gershon was silent for a long moment. His feelings were in turmoil, but his lips remained sealed. Arnon’s sudden candor surprised and embarrassed him. The shock of his encounter with Dr. Zimmerman had still not faded, and he was only slowly regaining his composure.

  Finally he spoke. “Listen, Arnon, thanks for your frankness. But to the matter at hand, this is first time in my life that I can say to someone, ‘I love you’. I have never enjoyed being with anyone like I enjoy being with her. And it’s not just the sex. It’s touching her, stroking her, looking at her eyes and smelling her perfume. But it’s much more than that – I delight to honor her, and you know what I mean. You know Hebrew, not like the youngsters of today who can get through their whole lives with a hundred words, and maybe even less, half of which are ‘sort of,’ ‘cool’ and ‘like’,” he said, trying to avoid expressing his feelings. “I greatly enjoy having a conversation with her. Her language constantly amuses me. Her Hebrew-Chinglish is delightful and I’m crazy about it…” he smiled, fixing his gaze on the reddening horizon above the gray sea that reflected the clouds above it.

  “And furthermore, I think about her all the time. When I’m with her I feel like I’ve never felt before. Colors are brighter, the sky is bluer, food tastes better and people are nicer. Do you understand? And I might not have much time left.”

  “Yes, yes, I get it! Well-known symptoms of being in love,” his host answered with unmasked cynicism. “But why don’t you have time? You look like a man who’s in the prime of life!”

  “Look, Arnon. As Dr. Zimmerman expressed it to me: ‘We aren’t talking here about years.’”

  “Who is this Dr. Zimmerman?”

  “A urologist. I have prostate cancer that has spread and is terminal.”

  “Walla! I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault, but that’s the situation. Anyway, I’ve already talked too much. Apart from you, almost nobody knows about it, including Dahlia and Adam.”

  Again there was silence.

  Arnon turned his chair to face Gershon and addressed him slowly and thoughtfully, “Listen, the cancer is a time bomb waiting to explode, but let’s ignore it for the moment: one problem at a time. Look, officially I’m not allowed to advise you. You’re what’s called a ‘big shot,’ so you and I mustn’t get involved. But as a friend, I’d say…” He hesitated for a moment and drank some water. “Look, the wo
rld today is built around images, media and fake news. Values are no longer a marketable commodity! And you’re an old-fashioned man, very ‘sixties,’ as the youngsters say. In fact, you’ve never left Hashomer Hatzair, the socialist youth movement. And you’re convinced that everybody is like you: ‘The Shomer’ is a man of truth and always guards the truth…’ Come on, face reality! Nowadays there aren’t any more people like you at the top. ‘The mold has been broken,’ as your sea captain friend, Adam, is fond of saying. You have to deal with the other big-wigs using modern cutting-edge tools, not yesterday’s ideologies of the kibbutz.”

  “Listen, Arnon, I came here to ask if I should meet Li-Lan’s father, not how I should speak with the prime minister or run the office.”

  “I know, calm down. But you’re still naïve about women. Anyone who believes in ‘constructive friendship’ is naïve,” he mocked. “Gersh! The world moved in a different direction a long time ago. And the Chinese are leading the way! Maybe they’re really pulling a fast one on you? Are you positive he’s really her father? Do me a favor and don’t meet with them. And if and when they return, we’ll talk. In any case, report to those who need to know. By the way, what did Adam tell you about them?”

  “He really liked them both. But he didn’t contribute any new insights. So I’ve decided to meet the Chinese professor, no matter what. I’ll watch my ass, don’t worry. And I’ll report it as well. What do I have to lose? Anyway, I’ll try to size him up and observe both of them together at first hand, try to figure out what they’re trying to sell, and why they’ve chosen me.”

  “Alright, I get it and I’ll go along with you. But don’t forget that as a lawyer and a friend, it’s against my better judgment.” He rose, paced the small balcony, put down his glass and resumed his seat. “Okay, I don’t need to teach you about eavesdropping, cameras or weapons. But keep as quiet as possible. Be pleasant and reserved. Try to understand who’s against whom. Don’t be tempted to rely on intuition. Get a general impression and act wisely. Don’t be a smart guy, avoid embarrassing questions and stick to your cover story! And as for the news you just gave me, I’ll try to support you as much as I can.”

  “Thanks, Arnon. Leave it alone. Continue to think positive thoughts about me.”

  “But I don’t have any!” he laughed. Gershon smiled with a restrained smile that hid some sadness.

  The attorney drained his glass, watching a pair of falcons circling above them on their final hunt of the day, searching for prey hidden in the sandy fields and the wild bushes growing down the slope towards the shore.

  “They’re not fools, Gershon, and they know a thing or two about you. It’s possible that it’s all like you say it is and you’ve found the love of your life.” He grew silent and continued to follow the pair of falcons waiting for their chance. “And maybe not…”

  Gershon listened wordlessly.

  “Try and understand their relationship and what they want from you. Don’t commit yourself to anything until your beauty returns from China. And… sit with your back to the wall. You still have a lot to lose.”

  Arnon’s advice reminded him of Hamlet, as they had studied it in twelfth grade with the respected educator, Tushek Neriah. And he suddenly recalled his sonorous voice in group encounters around the dying campfire: “Will we live on our swords forever?” and: “Until when will we live on the tips of spears?”

  Who cared about that back then, fifty years ago? I just prayed that peace wouldn’t arrive too soon, so that I could become a fighter pilot… he mused, trying in his imagination to bridge the gap between the eager boy who was crazy about planes and the elderly man who was tired of wars. But by now it all seemed to him faded and unimportant.

  Arnon cut into his reveries: “And how’s our Dahlia these days?”

  “She’s angry. She’s suddenly grown jealous, but that doesn’t stop her from being as efficient as usual.”

  “She has every right to be angry with you. You’ve ruined her life,” Arnon smiled and rose from his chair. “Right, then. Good luck. I’m here at your service! In that matter as well.”

  “Thank you, my learned friend!” he said trying to maintain a sense of humor. “You’ve been a big help.”

  As he was swallowed up by the elevator on his way down to his bodyguards, he felt for the little Sig Sauer pistol, tucked into his belt beneath his jacket.

  * * *

  The night was warm and dark. The three of them waited in their car in the parking lot beneath Building 22, in the exclusive Argaman Towers complex.

  “Shauli, is everything clear?”

  “Affirmative, Chief.”

  “Good. So let’s rehearse it: You ring the doorbell: a tall, beautiful Chinese woman opens the door. What do you say to her?”

  “Good evening, Miss. I am here on behalf of Mr. Jerry Stark. May I come in?”

  “Fine. We’ll work on your accent another time. She’s used to Israeli English,” he said and continued to examine his bodyguard, who was dressed in civilian clothes: blue jacket, sky-blue shirt, gray tie and stylish beige trousers, hiding his earpiece in his pocket. Despite the tension he was feeling, Gershon was satisfied.

  “Shauli, pay attention, I am going over the briefing now: we’ll both go up in the elevator to the tenth floor. Then we’re splitting up: I’ll wait and hide in the stairwell near the elevator while you’ll enter the apartment and perform room checks, paying special attention to possible hidden cameras and microphones, especially on the balcony, because that’s where I want to sit with them. Afterwards you’ll ask politely to check them with your tiny Magnometer to make sure they aren’t hiding weapons. They know you’re coming because I briefed them in advance and they agreed. Then you’ll send me a signal through the nightingale: green: Everything is okay; red: Something looks suspicious. Then you’ll politely say ‘Good evening’ and exit to the stairwell. I’ll enter the apartment only after you approve it! Afterwards you’ll wait for me in the stairwell with its door slightly open and with a clear view of her door until the end of the meeting. We won’t be able to use earpieces. The nightingale will be used only in case of emergency. Is that clear?”

  “Copied and clear, sir!” He smiled.

  “Do you remember her apartment number?” he asked, ignoring the smile.

  “Sure, sir: thirty!”

  “Good. And the name on the door?”

  “In English: Ms. L. Yang, Embassy of China.”

  “Good. Any questions, Shauli?”

  “Everything’s clear, Chief. Really, don’t take it so seriously. We’ve already known her for some time: Don’t panic or fear - Shauli is here!”

  “No jokes, Shauli. They don’t suit me right now. In any case, if I press on the nightingale, both of you will break into the apartment!” Tension was evident in his voice, which had grown rather hoarse and high-pitched. “Report the meeting back to our people only after I ring the doorbell of her apartment! Don’t pass on any identifying information and try to sound cool and calm: Just a work meeting. Is that clear?”

  “Clear as day.” Shauli smiled and Guy nodded slowly.

  “Chief?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I smoke a cigarette beforehand?”

  “Sure. Take your time. You remind me of someone condemned to death making his final request.” He smiled, trying to break the tension for both of them. But the thought ran through his mind: I am already condemned…

  He looked northbound towards Mandarin Hotel, identifying the red neon heart symbol. Then he raised his eyes to the dark firmament and spotted the Cassiopeia constellation. From there he searched further into the darkness. Finally, he identified the faintly glittering Polaris, the North star, and felt as though he’d found an old friend.

  ‘Situational awareness,’ they call it nowadays… he told himself contentedly.

  Afterwards he turned towards the building
and scanned upwards until he reached the tenth floor. A bit to the right of the darkened balcony he identified her illuminated living room. …Good. We’ll sit on the balcony and Shauli will remain in the stairwell watching… His neck started hurting and he felt pins and needles in his arms. “Shitty neck’s nerve damage,” he muttered to himself. His back started radiating the familiar sharp pain to his leg and he longed to sit down, but didn’t give in to himself. The smell of cigarette smoke tickled his nostrils.

  “Shauli, give me a few puffs. I haven’t touched tobacco for thirty years.”

  “Chief!?” Just don’t go getting addicted on us,” Shauli laughed softly and offered him the burning cigarette.

  The taste of smoke and nicotine mixed with the saliva in his mouth, suddenly reminded him of his father, many years ago. When he returned the butt, he said in an unusually hoarse and high-pitched voice: “Let’s go, Shauli. We’re going up! Guy, wait here in the vehicle. We’re on our mobiles.”

  “Yes, sir!” Guy answered from the driver’s seat of the silver Škoda, indifferent to the weird timbre of his boss’s voice.

  * * *

  There was a heavy scent of jasmine perfume in the elevator. He identified it immediately: …Did she just go up or did she spray it in the elevator in our honor? He asked himself as they ascended to the tenth floor.

  When Shauli’s security check was completed and he returned to the stairwell, Gershon left it and entered the corridor. Then he stepped forward and stood in front of her door, hesitating. He threw a glance over his shoulder: through the slightly opened stairwell door, he saw Shauli winking and smiling at him, raising a thumb in encouragement.

  Here goes nothing! He muttered to himself and pressed the doorbell.

  Li-Lan opened the door and stood before him smiling. She was wearing a black dress and red high heels, a purple ribbon in her hair and transparent rose-colored lipstick on her shapely lips. It was impossible to miss the jasmine perfume. …Always looks like a model, even at home…