Spy Dance

by Allan Topol

  He booted up his computer and waited. At 8:50, Gideon was standing in the doorway to his office. Fifteen minutes, David thought, not bad.

  “I hear you’re going to London next week,” the director of security said, leaning more weight on his good leg.

  “News travels fast.”

  “Why are you going?” Gideon demanded.

  David was tempted to say none of your fucking business, but he knew how vulnerable he was. The Mossad could pull his passport and hold him in the country. He wanted this trip to London and the answers it could provide too badly to take the risk. In a polite matter-of-fact voice, he said, “I’d still like to make some money for the kibbutz. I have a meeting at Jaguar, in England.”

  Gideon coughed. “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t go.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “I wonder if this is a good time to go with all that’s happened, and it’s not over yet.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Sit here like a clay pigeon?”

  “Why not give the Mossad time to find out who killed Kourosh? Let them dispose of those people before they can get to you.”

  But David stubbornly refused to cancel the trip, telling Gideon that he had worked too hard to develop the new computer project. “We already sold Ford. They own Jaguar. If I get another large contract, it’ll mean a new dining room for the kibbutz, and I’m determined to get it.”

  “I’m not saying delay indefinitely. It’s a question of timing.”

  “Courage, Gideon,” David responded. “We can’t live our lives like that. We’re Israelis. Normal is always our pose.”

  Gideon bristled. “You’re lecturing me about the Israeli character?”

  David forced a laugh, “Sure, but so what?”

  “Where will you stay in London?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Wherever the Jaguar people put me.”

  That was all he intended to tell Gideon. All Gideon would be able to report to Jerusalem.

  * * *

  David arrived at terminal three at Heathrow, where he spent a full hour wandering around in the baggage-claim area before going through customs. Then he crisscrossed the main terminal several times, darting into rest rooms and shops, before boarding a bus for terminal two. From there he took another bus to terminal four. He took the Underground into London, changing trains twice and boarding each time at the last instant. Neither time did he see anyone trying to board quickly with him. By the time he emerged from the Underground at Green Park Station and walked along Piccadilly toward Knightsbridge, he was breathing a sigh of relief, pleased that he had lost whatever tail the Mossad had sent.

  It was almost seven o’clock when David got to the reception desk at the Park Lane. Room 804 had been reserved for him, facing the park, as he had requested. He remained in the room only long enough to inspect the view from the large double windows and check for bugs. Satisfied, he went back down to the lobby, purchased an international calling card and walked along Piccadilly until he found an empty red calling box. As he dialed the number in Lausanne, Switzerland, he had long ago committed to memory, he held his breath, hoping Bruno would be home.

  He was relieved to hear the familiar “Yes, please,” in Bruno’s unmistakable French with a Swiss German accent.

  David answered in French, “Bruno, it’s a voice from your past.”

  “And your French hasn’t improved.”

  “Should I talk in Hebrew?”

  Bruno chuckled. “You could do that, but I wouldn’t understand a word. So how are you, joker?”

  David smiled. “Joker” had been Bruno’s nickname for David. “In trouble again.”

  “Why did I have a feeling that was the case when I heard your voice? What can I do for you?”

  “I need a contact in London. Someone who can supply me with necessities.”

  “Give me a minute,” Bruno replied, now all business. “I’ll check my little black book.”

  Waiting for Bruno, David glanced at the walls of the calling box. About two dozen cards had been posted—suggestive pictures of scantily clad women with phone numbers and enticing descriptions, like “hot and busty.”

  When Bruno came back on, he said, “Dial 171-555-8746. Ask for John and use my name. Now, what else can I do for you?”

  With everything that was happening, David needed Bruno’s advice. “How about buying me dinner later this week? Say Friday?”

  “I’d love to. But with all of that wonderful Israeli food you’ve been eating, would La Rotonde in the Beau Rivage still be good enough for you?”

  “That’s real funny.”

  “I hope you’ll stay at my place in Montreaux.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “Good. Call me with an arrival time, and I’ll have Rudolph pick you up.”

  David’s next call was to John, who answered in a cockney accent. “Empire Ticket Service. John here,” he said in a cheerful voice.

  “I’m a friend of Bruno’s. He said you could help me.”

  “Anything for Bruno,” he replied, now sounding tense.

  “I need a Beretta with a silencer.”

  “Tonight?”

  `“Tomorrow morning will be fine.”

  “At ten o’clock, go to a boutique at number 10 Glen Street in Soho called the Turtle. Ask for Clyde. When you buy a sweater, your Beretta will be packed in the box. When you’re finished with it, dispose of it however you’d like. It won’t be traceable.”

  * * *

  The next morning, a perfect London summer day with a gentle breeze cooling the warm rays of the sun, the kind of a day that occurs about ten times each summer in London, David spent an hour at the Jaguar office on Berkely Square, meeting with Richard Highsmith, whose name he had been given by a contact at Ford. Then he visited a special exhibition of Russian art at the Royal Academy Museum on Piccadilly before going to the Turtle on Glen Street in Soho, where Clyde helped him pick a sweater his stepdaughter would like. He returned to his hotel via Piccadilly, stopping at Fortnum & Mason for a jar of orange marmalade and then a cappuccino at a small shop on the street. Periodically, he glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t think he was being tailed.

  It was twelve-thirty when he walked back into the Park Lane. The time for playing the tourist had ended.

  At ten minutes to one, David stood in front of the window of his eighth-floor room with a pair of high-powered binoculars focused on Green Park. A row of hedges separated the park from Piccadilly, and on the far side there were four empty benches. David expected Tonto to sit down on one of them, but so far there was no sign of him. David scanned the park. Two mothers wearing light summer dresses, with babies in prams, were chatting, taking advantage of the pleasant weather. A young man and a woman in a halter top were hugging and kissing on a blanket on the grass. A midday jogger in shorts and a T-shirt ran across one of the diagonal paths that crisscrossed in the park.

  He glanced at his watch and focused on those four empty benches.

  At exactly one o’clock, David watched the man who referred to himself as Tonto walk slowly and cautiously along a path that led from Buckingham Palace to Piccadilly, constantly turning his head like someone being hunted. Tonto walked back and forth twice in front of the four empty benches before sitting down on one at the end. Even then his head and eyes remained constantly in motion, twitching as he looked around.

  As instructed by the Lone Ranger, Tonto waited fifteen minutes, got up and left the park. David scanned the area carefully. No one followed him. David was relieved.

  For the next half hour, David continued to watch the park, but he didn’t see anything unusual.

  * * *

  Eight floors below, under the large Japanese flag at the Japanese Cultural Information Center, Shauel kept one eye on the entrance of the hotel and tried to look unobtrusive—always one of a spy’s hardest tasks. The gray checked suit he had worn was too heavy for the day, and he was perspiring. He was also annoyed because this entire assignment was a
stupid waste of time, particularly when he had planned to be on vacation with Zippora and the children in the lake country of northern England.

  Suddenly, the cell phone rang in Shauel’s pocket. He moved a couple of paces away from the hotel and held the phone up to his ear. As he had expected, it was Sagit in Jerusalem, and she sounded irritated.

  “What’s happening? You haven’t called in.”

  “There was nothing to report.”

  “What do you mean, nothing?”

  “He’s acting like a typical tourist. He shopped and went to a museum. This whole effort is a ridiculous waste.”

  “Does he know you’ve been tailing him?”

  Shauel sighed in resignation. Once Sagit had her mind set on a course, there was no turning her around. “I doubt it. I used a three-man tag team, as you suggested. It’s diverting resources from other activities. The ambassador’s angry at me.”

  “Too bad. Tell him to call Moshe. It’s all been approved by the prime minister. Finding out what happened to Kourosh is now a top priority in Jerusalem.”

  “I was hoping I could break it off.”

  She snapped, “if you don’t do the job right, you could end up like Yosef.”

  “The old man really sacked Yosef? With all of Yosef’s friends in the Knesset, I couldn’t believe he did it.”

  “Moshe’s in a state these days. Heads are going to roll, and both of ours could be included. So, if you’re smart, you’ll stick with the subject and call me if anything happens.”

  Suddenly, Shauel saw David walking through the front entrance of the hotel. “Gotta run, Sagit. Subject is on the move.”

  * * *

  David waited until Tonto was seated on a bench before he crossed Piccadilly to the park.

  Hearing the sound of footsteps, the man on the bench shot to his feet and watched David coming closer. David reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black mask to cover the eyes, and tossed it to the startled man.

  “Don’t say a word,” David told him softly. “Sit back down on the bench, slowly. Then we’ll talk.”

  David waited until Tonto followed his instructions, and sat down beside him. Even though no one else was within earshot, David still whispered. “I’ve got a loaded Beretta in my jacket pocket. If this is a setup, whatever else happens, you’re dead.”

  Beads of perspiration broke out on Tonto’s forehead. “Jesus, Greg,” he said. “I wouldn’t ever have believed it was you if it weren’t for the limp. How the hell’d you change yourself so much?”

  “Look, Bill, this isn’t a reunion, and we’re not here to play twenty questions.”

  “But where are you living now?”

  “One more question from you, and I’m out of here. I ask the questions. I want to know, who’s interested in my dental records?”

  Bill Fox looked puzzled. “I didn’t know anyone was.”

  “You’re lying,” David replied, pushing the gun against Fox’s rib cage through the cloth of his jacket.

  “No, I’m not. I swear it.” Fox took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his forehead. As David watched him, he was struck by how different Fox looked now from five years ago. The heavy black-framed glasses were gone, replaced by contact lenses. The gray in his hair had been colored. A trim beard had been added, which Fox no doubt thought made him look debonair, although to David it looked comical. These changes made David guess that whatever else was happening, Fox had something going with a much younger woman.

  “Then why did you want to see me?”

  “Things are falling apart in Saudi Arabia now, just as you predicted five years ago,” Fox said.

  David snorted. “That’s no big surprise.”

  “Actually, it’s even worse. The country’s on the verge of bankruptcy. The bills are now coming due for their recent spending binge for expensive new military equipment they can’t use, and for factories that aren’t functioning. The huge living stipends from the king that thousands of Saudi princes get each year are expanding exponentially.” Fox slid a couple of inches along the bench, away from David and the pressure of the gun. “When the price of oil took a dip last year, they began reaching into their foreign reserves, which are nearly depleted. The Saudi king knows he’s in big trouble financially. He’s even stopped covering the debts of some of his close family members.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Fox looked uncomfortable. “I just know.”

  “So how do the fundamentalists fit in all of this?”

  “The Hezbollah terrorist leader, Mohammed Nasser, is organizing for a violent revolution similar to the overthrow of the Shah. I figure he’ll move in six months or so.”

  David shrugged. “All of this is a real tearjerker, but don’t waste your time telling me about it. Go tell them in Washington. Margaret Joyner’s a lot smarter than Hugh O’Brien ever was. She should be sympathetic.”

  “I already tried, but I got nowhere. She included General Chambers in our meeting. I don’t know how much you’ve followed this stuff, but your old buddy Chambers managed to persuade some of his friends in the Senate to lean on the President for Chambers’ appointment as chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

  David had read about Chambers’ appointment in the newspaper. “Why are you surprised? He could always be a wily political animal if he thought it served his purposes.”

  “Well, he sure managed to manipulate Margaret Joyner in our meeting. I couldn’t believe that she listened to him when he told her to disregard everything I was saying. Besides, she made it clear that her top priority right now, and until November 6, is President Waltham’s reelection. One thing she doesn’t want is a foreign policy crisis. So, I decided to place the ad in the Herald Tribune. It was a real long shot. I didn’t know if you would even see the ad. If you did, would you remember after five years that I used to call you the Lone Ranger, and myself Tonto? Then, among the fifty or so crank calls I received, I heard a voice that sounded like yours, and the type of message you would leave.”

  Fox had piqued David’s interest. “But why did you want to get in touch with me?”

  “You’re the only one I could think of who might be able to stop the fundamentalists from taking power.”

  David shook his head in disbelief. “That’s why you went to so much trouble?”

  “I have a lot of respect for you.” His eyes were open wide, pleading with David for help.

  What was really driving Fox? David wondered. “I’m flattered, Bill, but five years ago I was a different person in a different life. I’m not in that business anymore. I frankly don’t give a rat’s ass whether the American people pay three dollars a gallon for gasoline or thirty-three. I gave twenty years of my life to my country, and I ended up a fugitive. I don’t have that many more years left, and I’d like to enjoy them as best I can.”

  “That’s not the Greg Nielsen I remember.”

  “Yeah, well, lots happened to me since the bomb blew up on the American complex five years ago. You may not believe it, but it’s possible to find contentment in a world not dominated by Langley. Since you came all this way to meet me, I’ll give you some advice and make the trip worthwhile.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Quit the Company yourself. You might like spending time with Alice, Ned and Mary Ann.”

  “It’s too late for that. My marriage is history.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  David sounded sympathetic. He remembered how broken up Fox had been when Alice refused to move to Dhahran. But why do you care so much about what happens in Saudi Arabia? You did your job. You raised the warning flags for Washington, just as I did. If they won’t listen, that’s not your fault.”

  Fox squeezed his hands together and stared at a mother playing on the grass with a two-year-old girl with gorgeous blond ringlets. Knowing Fox, David realized there was something else here. He waited for Fox to tell him. Maybe that held the key to the theft of his dental records. All the while, his eyes darte
d around the park looking for anything suspicious.

  Fox again wiped his forehead. David watched the sweep second hand of his watch make one complete revolution while Fox remained silent. Then David said, “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m leaving.”

  He started to rise.

  “No, don’t do that,” Fox said plaintively, tugging on David’s arm. “Please help me.”

  The man was practically in tears. David sat back down. “Okay, what the hell’s going on?”

  “About six months ago I became friends with a Saudi woman, Princess Misha’il. She’s a writer who was educated at Oxford. I figured she would be a good source for information. She’s very outspoken in the country on women’s issues.”

  “You mean, she thinks women should have lives of their own. Maybe even go out in public themselves or drive a car. Radical ideas like that?”

  “Yeah, that kind of thing. She’s not married, and she’s the daughter of one of the king’s cousins. So they tolerate her. Well, anyhow, she has a close childhood friend and relative, Jameelah, who’s in a bad personal situation.”

  Fox hesitated.

  “Go on,” David pushed, his eyes scouring the park again. The young couple was still making out on the grass. The blond girl was drinking juice from a bottle. The two women rocked babies to sleep in prams while they gossiped.

  “I mean, she’s married to a real slime-ball. She’s one of his four wives. Her father forced her to marry him two years ago. He’s a lot older, a fat slob, who happens to be a nephew of the king. In contrast, she’s just gorgeous and intelligent, and a really decent person who.”

  David interrupted him. “Jesus, Bill. You’re not having an affair with this Jameelah, a married Saudi princess, are you?”

  Fox squeezed the handkerchief in his hands. “We’re in love,” he finally said.

  “Love? Are you kidding? You’re out of your fucking mind.” He stared hard at Fox. “If her husband finds out, his family will kill both of you just like that. They’ll cut off your dick and stuff it in your mouth. Then they’ll chop your head off. The women in the family will stone her. I’ve seen it happen.” He watched Fox trembling as he spoke. “How old’s this Jameelah?”