by Rose Fox
When he laughed, San looked at Karma’s face and eyes that radiated happiness and in a split second, he knew he hadn’t missed the opportunity.
“I believe we can dissolve that rust,” San remarked.
“The truth is that I don’t remember very much of what I knew,” Karma admitted. “But, if you do decide to recall me, I only ask that you give me time to prepare her and the girls.”
A shudder ran down San’s back. He wondered how to tell the man sitting before him that he didn’t have even five days. At the same time, Karma wondered how to tell Salima, his wife, who had probably forgotten she had married a man, who would get up and disappear from her life for indeterminate periods.
“How many children do you have?”
A smile lit up Karma’s eyes when he told him that his second daughter, Naziah, was three months old and his first born, Kahit, was almost four years old.
“Hmm…” muttered San and pulled a passport out of his pocket.
“This is yours, study it and memorize the details.”
Karma opened his eyes wide in surprise. He opened the booklet, looked at his tiny photograph and the number marked underneath it as he heard San speak quietly.
“Let’s review the details. Tell me where you were educated, where you grew up and what you do for a living.” Karma understood that San was checking what he recalled of his cover story.
“Ah, I completed my studies at Yale in New Haven, Connecticut. I graduated with a degree in Global Geography and I also lecture on that subject. I came to Azerbaijan on a student exchange program and was offered a job as a guide and tour leader.”
“Good. Who offered you the job?”
“The Azerbaijan Ambassador to Israel, Karim Kodor,” and immediately added:
“I am betrothed to Naima, a Persian woman I met in the student exchange program.” And frowned when he said that.
“When will you marry your Persian fiancée?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see what happens.” Then, he asked in a whisper:
“Does she know about this?”
Instead of receiving an answer, he heard another question:
“What is the university’s phone number and where is your student card?”
“(203) 432-2332 is the phone number and I don’t remember where I put my student card, but I will find it by tomorrow.”
They were silent and Karma continued leafing through the booklet in his hand. The waitress set down two glasses of lemonade on the table and when she turned to leave, San spread out a paper.
“Yes, it’s the key to the codes for deciphering electronic messages,” He said, but at the same moment there was a loud noise of a motorcycle and San could not hear what Karma was saying.
“What did you say? Repeat what you said,” he yelled.
“I asked, who am I supposed to contact?” Karma shouted, trying to be heard over the noise of the motorcycle.
“You will be Lucy’s operator."
“When am I supposed to go?”
“You will depart on Saturday, at 6:00 am, from Terminal 2, where you will receive a one-way ticket.”
The noise became even louder and San signaled him to go inside the restaurant.
“I didn’t understand,” Karma said. “I heard you say that I am to leave this Saturday, in five days’ time.”
“Yes, this coming Saturday. You will land in Azerbaijan and get to the appointed country on your own.”
“Will someone be waiting for me?”
When he saw how San was looking at him, he repeated his question, raising his voice.
“I asked, who am I supposed to approach after I land?
“Someone will approach you. It’s been arranged.” Then added, “Tomorrow you will meet with Michael for a briefing. You can ask him whatever you want to know.”
The noise of the motorcycle became deafening and suddenly it stopped in front of them. It was huge and they stared at it from between two trunks of trees that grew on the sidewalk. San got up from his chair and a short burst of gunfire hit him, his glassed flew in the air and landed somewhere.
Karma immediately turned his gaze to the motorcyclist, wearing a helmet. His muscular arms were tensed, holding the handlebars, and on his arm that held the rifle, a shiny green tattoo of a striped snake on a background of stalks and flowers could be seen. Just then, the motorcycle lurched forward, crossed the traffic lanes and disappeared from sight.
Karma leaned over San, heard a siren that cut out all at once. A policeman in a dark uniform got out of the police car and surveyed San, lying on the sidewalk. He talked into a communications device and minutes later an ambulance with a whining siren arrived and drove onto the sidewalk.
Karma quickly withdrew into the café and followed from there how they lifted San onto a gurney and rolled it to the ambulance. He wondered to whom the gunfire had been directed and that, perhaps, the gunman had erred when he hit San. When the ambulance disappeared to the sound of its whining sirens, he repeated the details he had memorized; Saturday, 6:00 am, Terminal 2. His legs were trembling as he made his way home and committed the drawing of the snake tattooed on the motorcyclist assassin’s arm, to memory.
For two days, San hovered between life and death, sedated and on a respirator. On the third day, he opened his eyes and gathered that he could only see out of one eye. He immediately touched the unseeing eye and discovered the empty indent and eye socket and burst out laughing. Barak, who was sitting beside his bed, jumped up in fright at the sound of his laughter.
“Oh, thank God! Have you woken up?! May I know what’s amusing you?”
“Listen, I’ll tell you. I was used to seeing you with both my eyes and, now, I can even see you’re here with only one eye.”
Barak continued sitting silently and resisted the urge to burst out crying because, at last, his partner had revived.
That same day, San was flown out and transferred to a hospital in Israel. And from there, they mounted all the efforts to locate the attackers and get to their dispatchers.
They did not get to the motorcyclist, but they did succeed in reaching the source that sent him, but that only happened, by chance, a long time later.
* * *
On the way home, Karma was unable to suppress his thoughts about the stormy beginning to his work in the field. Now, only one thing bothered him – how to tell Salima, his wife.
He spoke to himself:
‘Well, you did warn her of this, years ago.’ But, today, when the moment finally came, he didn’t know how or where he could possibly begin this conversation.
He climbed the stairs to his apartment slowly and found himself counting the steps. By the time he reached the seventh one, he already knew that he was not going to share the story of the attack, the gun shots and the motorcyclist with Salima, his wife. When he stood in front of the closed door, he took a deep breath before he turned the doorknob.
“Daddy, daddy!” Kahit cried out as she ran on her little legs with her arms stretched out to him. He picked her up and went to Salima, who was at the sink, washing dishes.
“A’halan,” (Welcome) she greeted him, standing with her back to him.
He put the child down, drew closer to his wife, and embraced her from behind with both arms. He kissed her hair and didn’t see how she frowned as she wondered what had got into him and what this demonstration of affection was all about. When she turned to him, he pressed his lips to her forehead and, in the same breath, said:
“We have to talk.”
Salima was still holding a wet glass in her hand when she sat down and, just from the gravity his eyes expressed, she understood that their conversation would determine their fate. The little girl skipped off happily to her room, looked back, smiled and heard the question:
“When are you leaving?”
“I don’t know yet,” He replied immediately, unable to find the courage to tell her that, five days hence he would no longer be at home.
“For how long? Where, ex
actly?” Her face expressed her great displeasure.
“It’s not clear right now, they will tell me.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between them and they could not look each other in the eye.
On his way home, Karma planned how he would tell her and rehearsed what he would say. When he sat in the car, he spoke out loud to himself. He tried to imagine her response and how he would answer her, but it really wasn’t anything like what came out of his mouth now.
“You know that I am obliged to them and have no choice.”
“You have no choice? Nonsense! Who says so?”
“Enough, my love, you knew that from the start, long before our marriage, right?”
He put out his hand to caress her arm, but she shook him off and tears welled up in her eyes.
“Karma, please take us there, let’s all go together.” A beseeching tone entered her voice.
“No, Salimi, I am on a secret mission. I have to play a role and it’s impossible for you or the girls to be there… please understand.”
“Please let me see why not!”
“Salima, there is no way one can live a family life in a job like this. And, and you will also face unnecessary danger.”
“Lovely, so what are you actually telling me that you’re leaving us here alone and taking off on an assignment, you may never return from.”
“Enough, Salimi. Don’t say that. You know it’s not exactly like that.”
“Isn’t it?! Then tell me how it is, exactly!” She screamed.
They heard Kahit crying in her room. Salima got up and disappeared into the room and Karma sighed. He wondered what more there was to say in this situation and knew that the voice of reason was not being heard.
He heard his wife shouting, almost screaming from the room:
“Fine, Y’allah, Go! You are irresponsible, running away and leaving the girls and me without support, without anything!”
“That’s really not true!” Now, he was also raising his voice.
She peeped out at him, as she held the child and shouted:
“It’s not true? Then how am I supposed to manage here on my own?”
“You really aren’t alone. You have a family here and you’re not in the desert. You know very well that you can call and ask for whatever you need.”
“Ask for what, and from whom? I need my man! I don’t want someone else to take care of me! What isn’t clear about that?”
Karma shut up. He stared at her, at her flushed cheeks and her dark eyes from which tears of fury were flowing. He didn’t know what to say. What came out of his mouth was:
“Salimi, you and the girls are all my life. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, really! So why are you leaving us?!
Now, Karma lost what remained of his patience and yelled:
“You knew about this, years ago, long before our marriage, right? I told you that I would get an order like this and that I am waiting to be called to the field.”
“That’s not true! I didn’t know anything! What I do know, right now, is that you are leaving and deserting us and that’s all!” She screamed bitterly.
“Salimi, come on, enough, come to me.” He went to her and tried to embrace her, but she pushed him, slipped out of his grasp and slammed the door in his face. He heard her weeping and muttering aloud. Naziah, the baby, woke up and began crying. Karma opened the front door, walked out and slammed it shut behind him in a storm of emotion. He skipped down the steps, two at a time and went out into the darkened street.
Salima struggled to deal with what Karma had told her for a long while. She cradled her baby in her arms and wondered who she could enlist to help her attempt to prevent him from leaving. She looked at her watch. It was 9.30 and she phoned her brother.
“I’d like to speak to my brother, Effendi,” she spoke into the receiver as she rocked her baby, who had long since closed her eyes.
“Yes, I’m listening.” She heard.
“Karma is leaving to go on an assignment and…”
“Speak, sister, but no names please and keep it short.”
“Ah, Effendi, he’s left the girls and me and is telling a story of a secret assignment.”
“Oh, really? Where are they sending him to?”
“He said to “the field,” he spoke of ‘them'. I don‘t know and I don’t care.” She cried. “Can he be stopped? Perhaps, the assignment can be canceled? Can you do something to intervene?”
There was silence, but she heard her brother breathing and supposed he was busy thinking what could be done.
“Tell me, what is he doing today? What are his plans?”
“The usual, you know, lecturing.”
“Okay, I understand. It’s good you called today, Salima.” Then, with excitement she couldn’t quite understand, he added animatedly:
“I always knew that you were bigger than life!”
When he rang off, she was happy because she thought she had done the correct thing. She was convinced that this way she would prevent her husband to go on this strange assignment.
Salima had no idea that the telephone in their house was under constant surveillance by the ‘Mossad’ since the apartment belonged to it and their calls are always recorded. She did not know also that this particular call will led the ‘Mossad’ to Effendi, her brother, who belonged to the ‘Kaukab’ terrorist organization. This specific call had just opened Pandora’s Box, releasing all the evil shadows from their prison.
At a quarter past ten, the phone rang and Salima answered immediately, presuming that she would hear her brother, Effendi’s voice but, recognized a different voice.
“Hello, I am Karma’s replacement lecturer. May I speak to him?”
“Ah, he went out. What shall I tell him?”
“Nothing. Thank you, and sorry for calling so late.”
On the following day, Karma reached his lecture hall, bleary-eyed and harassed. He had tried to sleep on the back seat of his car the night before and he ached all over.
To his surprise, he found Michael waiting for him at the entrance to the room.
Michael was a handsome man, in his fifties. His gray hair and blue eyes lent him a grandfatherly demeanor and the impression of a typical English Lord, of the kind that appears in commercials depicting aristocratic families. Born in Canada, and his real name was George. Mossad gave him a new nickname, "Michael".
He stood up now and extended his hand to Karma and when Karma looked at him, he mused that he would never have imagined this man supervising intelligence agents in enemy countries.
Karma apologized and entered the lecture hall. He was surprised when he saw another instructor standing on the podium. The man stepped down and introduced himself as Gentelani, a lecturer in the Far East studies and immediately returned to the rostrum. He turned round suddenly as if he remembered something and called out from there:
"Ah, I would like to convey my apologies to your wife for calling so late. I wanted you to know that I am going to replace you.” When he saw Karma’s expression of surprise, he added:
“Ah, did she manage to give you my message?”
Karma waved his hand to thank him and wondered angrily why Salima hadn’t conveyed that message to him. However, after the meeting with Michael all the mundane details of his life melted away and were forgotten.
“Come, I have something to show you,” Michael said and quickly left the building.
He led him to a restaurant, selected a table far from the windows, and did not miss seeing how Karma quickly looked up and paid attention to the traffic outside the restaurant.
“Are you with me?” Michael inquired. “Calm yourself, the road is far from here,” Michael said and Karma tensed his lips in confusion.
“Here, I have a different kind of weapon for you.”
Karma raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw Michael take a camera out of his bag.
“What, does it fire?
“Almost. You have no idea how
powerful it is. This is an exceptional “Fuji” camera,” he said. “Come, let’s practice using it. Listen, you’re going outside in the street now to snap objects and when you come back with the snapshots – we’ll talk.”
“What should I photograph?” asked Karma, not understanding.
“It’s not important, whatever you choose. The idea is to shoot items as quickly as possible, without anyone noticing that you are taking pictures.”
Karma went out to the street and took pictures without looking through the lens, but aiming it at passing cars, signposts and people. He came back but Michael laughed when he looked at the snapshots.
“Look, here’s someone’s hand and this is part of a restaurant signpost.”
Karma went out again to try his luck and, this time, they laughed together when they looked at the shots. They saw the profile of a man in one picture in which Karma was sure he had managed to photograph all of him and a car driving by turned out looking like something blurred and shiny.
“Try thinking for a second like a soldier firing a rocket at a plane, flying in the sky,” Michael explained, and picked up the salt cellar.
“Let’s say this salt cellar is a rocket on course to a plane and that my hand is that aircraft.”
“I understand; you don’t need to say more. One has to aim a little ahead of the target for them to meet.”
“Bravo!” Michael cheered as he brought the salt cellar up to hit his hand and said:
“Boof!” and let his hand fall down on the table as he called out: “That’s a hit!”
He looked at Karma, urging him to go out again.
That day, they ate lunch at “McDonalds”. Scurrying around and taking pictures had made him tired but, he was happy to get a complimentary pat on the shoulder at the end. He glanced again quickly at the large glass window, and when he recalled the motorcyclist from the day before, he shuddered. Michael saw it and said.
“It’s fine that you look there but, try to keep your moves smooth, rather than sharp and abrupt.”
A young man appeared beside them and Karma jumped back but, then noticed how much he resembled Michael, just slimmer, and it was clear he was his son.
