When Shadows Collide (An Arik Bar Nathan Novel Book 1)

by Nathan Ronen

  “Recently, we had an unpleasant conversation here with you and your friends, veterans of the security agencies. You presented me with irrefutable facts regarding the involvement of Mossad Director Izzo Galili in illicit business while in office, and his improper use of intelligence information in the service of wealthy individuals.” Tzur smirked with the cynicism of a victor.

  “That’s why you invited me to come see you?” Cornfield interjected. He was appalled by this speech. His heart was full of contempt for a system that always allowed Tzur the politician to spin any situation, minimizing or inflating it in accordance with his needs.

  Tzur ignored Cornfield and resumed speaking. “I remember we had a little argument here about the materials you thought might allegedly incriminate me as well,” he said offhandedly, “relating to the funds I allegedly collected in preparation for the elections from various donors and foreign organizations, and whether they were or were not raised in accordance with the Election Act. I assume the attorney general has already told you there’s room for various interpretations here. The fact is the previous prime minister was also cleared of allegations of violating the Campaign Finance Law and claims that many of the organizations donating to his campaign were merely fronts.” He assessed Cornfield’s patience, which, judging by his body language, was coming to an end, then changed direction abruptly, saying, “But that’s not why I called you…”

  “We’re not kids. Enough with the bullshit, Tzur,” Cornfield interrupted, impatient. “You’ve always hated my guts and I’ve always hated yours. I have no intention of becoming your buddy now, of all times, after you fired me from the role of Mossad director in the most humiliating way, in the aisle of the cemetery, at former prime minister Lolik Kenan’s funeral!”

  “That’s just fine, Cornfield. I appreciate your directness. But no need to raise your voice. Let’s get down to brass tacks and talk about the country’s security. How about getting back in the thick of it and being Mossad director?” the prime minister tossed out, his snake eyes observing his startled victim.

  “Don’t make me laugh. I’ve been out of commission for more than a year,” Cornfield said, suspicious of Tzur’s motivation. “I’m not young anymore. I’m afraid my expiration date has already passed, and I’m not sure I like the direction in which you and your government are taking us.”

  Tzur examined Cornfield’s one eye as if searching for discrepancies between it and his glass one.

  He was assessing the determination of the large man across from him when he replied, “And what does that mean? I’m talking about resuming control of the institution you put so much into, your baby.”

  “I don’t think so,” Cornfield said firmly. “I never go back. I’m already in a different world. I’ve started a new project. On my estate in Kfar HaNagid, I’m raising Arab foals I import from the United Arab Emirates, to sell them as racehorses or studs. There’s an association for veterans suffering from PTSD, and I’ve been employing its members to take care of the horses. But why don’t you offer the job to Arik Bar-Nathan? I believe he’s currently the best and most appropriate, as well as the best-prepared, person for the job.”

  “I thought about him and offered him the job, but he turned me down,” Tzur said. “He was willing to stay on as deputy director and head of the Operations Administration, but not to take on full responsibility as director of the Mossad.”

  A tense silence filled the room. Cornfield reached into his pocket and produced a large pipe made of white bone, sculpted in the form of an Indian maharaja’s head. He then took out a round tin of fragrant tobacco and loaded the pipe. This was his way of buying time and figuring out all his options. Ignoring the “No Smoking” sign posted in all government offices, he lit the pipe, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself.

  Tzur could only make out, “So I’m your default option?”

  Cornfield let out a heavy cloud of sweetish smoke, which made Tzur choke, cough and edge away from him. He walked over to open a window.

  “The chaos the Mossad is currently experiencing is unhealthy. No one could get back in there and calm things down like you. And you’ll be the one nominating your successor. What do you say?” he turned to Cornfield with a tempting smile.

  “I’m not sure I want to work with you. I want to be fair and inform you that my friends and I are still not done with the incidents of bribery and the funds you appropriated from various organizations. I don’t like what you and your coalition of horrors are doing to this country,” Cornfield declared in his low bass voice, which had grown gravelly as a result of the harsh tobacco searing his throat.

  “Unlike you, I don’t hold a grudge,” Tzur said self-righteously. “And I’ll be happy to hear your critique of my government’s policy,” he added with a kind of fake patience, a manipulation intended to lure Cornfield into letting off steam, thus exposing his stance and his plans.

  The amused look Tzur directed at Cornfield enraged the latter, causing him to lash out. He rose from his seat, tall and still strong, waving his hands. Tzur realized he was in for a lecture. Therefore, he walked over to the small bar in his office, produced two shot glasses, poured himself some Macallan single malt whiskey and added two ice cubes. He offered some to Cornfield, who shook his head.

  “In contrast to what your government believes, Mr. Prime Minister Ehud Tzur, the strength and accomplishments of the State of Israel belong to the people, the citizens, to the outburst of talent, initiative, and even genius that Israelis who have converged here from all over the world possess,” Cornfield began. “Those millions of citizens are the ones who have the natural right to enjoy the fruits of their accomplishments. Much to my friends’ and my chagrin, in recent years, under your regime, Mr. Prime Minister, thanks to your coalition’s alliance with the ultra-Orthodox and parties from the extreme right, that vision has been deeply disrupted. You are not everyone’s prime minister. You employ sedition, sundering, and dismissal, utilizing the Roman tactic of ‘divide and conquer.’ Instead of focusing on ourselves, on enhancing our internal unity and on the citizens’ creative urges, your regime encourages a different vision, focused on ‘them’ rather than on ‘us.’ The anxiety over what ‘they’ will do, instead of determining what ‘we’ are doing. A deep fear of ‘foreigners,’ ‘goyim,’ ‘Amalekites’ from without, and ‘traitors’ and ‘collaborators’ with our enemies from within. Siccing and inciting Israelis against each other and creating a hatred of foreigners and underprivileged populations, such as the disabled and minorities. There’s hatred of our brethren, and the fabric of society is unraveled while the mythological fan base provided by your party cheers you on. I see who you’re choosing to be ministers or advisors and I think to myself, if all the idiots are on your side, there’s no doubt you could get elected to any role. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king!”

  “Is this sermon leading to some kind of conclusion?” Tzur asked with a cynicism that merely increased Cornfield’s rage.

  “Soon,” he replied angrily. “I’m not done yet! Israel is acting within the toughest ‘neighborhood’ in the world. It is indeed surrounded by multiple threats; sometimes they increase, and they’re always changing and evolving. ‘A villa in the jungle,’ I called it when I was head of the Mossad. That’s a given. People can’t choose their parents or their neighbors. They are who they are. Our military and strategic power is an essential condition for our ongoing existence. It is also the fulcrum for the lever that will bring us peace in the future, even if it is currently delayed.”

  Tzur looked Cornfield in the eye, his gaze assessing, and said, “Well put. But that’s not why I called you here. I get this sort of strategic inquiry into our situation every week, from my national security advisors, as well as from the head of the Military Intelligence Directorate and the head of your Intelligence and Research Division in the Mossad. Twice a week, I hear intelligence reviews that are supposed to frighten me as a
decision-maker. Everyone’s telling me about enemies from within and without, all scheming to destroy us. I never imagined you’d come today to lecture me too.”

  This time, Ehud Tzur rose from his seat and began to pace the room, his anger apparent. “I’ve had it up to here!” he shouted, pointing at a spot over his head. “I’ve had it with you, all you pie-in-the-sky leftists and your entire misery industry. Where you see traffic jams, I see interchanges…”

  Cornfield interjected, “Spare me the political pedagogical poem that you spoon-feed to your party friends and your fan base. I felt the need to say what was weighing on me, so that you couldn’t say I didn’t warn you in advance that I’m not your friend, and that my friends, the country’s gatekeepers, and I are not done with you yet.”

  They faced off, assessing each other like two alpha males competing for dominance over the herd.

  Politician Tzur cooled down at once. “Okay, I heard you out patiently. You told me what was bothering you. Are we done here?”

  Cornfield felt himself emptying of all the anger simmering within him at once, like a balloon that had popped.

  “As I told you,” the prime minister said, “Galili’s departure from the Mossad caused some serious upheaval there, and I want you to resume your role as Mossad director. Everyone says you’re the only one who can return stability to the organization.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that! At this stage in my life, I want to come back home to be with Amira and play with my grandchildren. It’s time to invest in ourselves for the duration of the life still left to us,” Cornfield said bitterly.

  Tzur laughed with amused cynicism. “I know you. You’ll lose your mind if you don’t do anything significant with your life. You’ll start digging up Amira’s garden until all the plants start protesting, carrying signs that say, ‘Get that nutcase away from here!’”

  “I actually have no intention of sitting around bored!” Cornfield protested. “I already told you that I’ve started raising Arab foals as riding horses. I’ve imported pregnant mares from the Persian Gulf.”

  “What does all that have to do with you? Have you become a cowboy in your old age?” Tzur snickered.

  “I see it as both an investment and an occupation. There are equestrian shows, as well as the Israel Arab Horse Society. It’s actually very interesting,” Cornfield said defensively.

  “You’re bigger than all that stuff!” Tzur flattered him. “The people of Israel need you! The Mossad director’s abrupt departure for reasons of personal corruption shook up the agency, and I need someone like you, an admired figure such as yourself, to take control and re-establish peace and quiet at the Office.”

  Cornfield’s skeptical look conveyed a momentary weakness. Tzur jumped all over the opportunity. As a seasoned politician, he knew exactly which buttons to push. Tzur knew that Cornfield was competitive and craved victory, and that if he maneuvered him correctly, he could extract everything he needed from him. He also knew that as a patriot, Cornfield would be unable to refuse when called back to serve his country.

  “Are we agreed?” Tzur asked, extending his hand to be shaken.

  “We haven’t agreed on anything yet. For how long do you want me?” Cornfield posed his conditions, enjoying every moment in which he was the one being courted by the prime minister.

  Tzur kept his hand extended in the air. “Six months?” he kept up the pressure. “Or until we find an appropriate candidate from within the Mossad, or an external one who you would recommend.”

  Cornfield watched Tzur performing a mating dance in front of him, just like a male bird-of-paradise on the islands of New Guinea. He didn’t need much persuasion in order to acquiesce. He didn’t like retirement. He had tried it, but it didn’t suit him. He missed the big game. Something within him rebelled against the game going on without him.

  “Okay, it’s a deal,” Cornfield said, and with great glee, grabbed Ehud Tzur’s delicate hand in his immense mitt, the hand of a farmer working the soil, and crushed it. He enjoyed the sound of cracking bones and the look of pain spreading across Tzur’s face.

  “And I want Arik Bar-Nathan to resume the role of my deputy,” he added. “As you recall, he took an unpaid leave of absence because of you and your poodle, who took over for me.”

  “You’re the boss,” Ehud Tzur grunted with pain. “It’s your decision. Let go of my hand already!”

  Cornfield hobbled out to the corridor with a victorious smile upon his face. That smile froze instantly when he spotted his rival Gideon Perry, his predecessor’s deputy Mossad director, in the reception room, waiting to see Ehud Tzur.

  Many years ago, Cornfield had been the one to depose Gideon Perry, immediately after assuming the role of Mossad director. The two exchanged the intimidating looks of sworn enemies. However, both were illustrious veteran warriors as well, and therefore, also nodded subtly to each other in an expression of respect.

  Cornfield exited the building and propelled himself into his new Land Cruiser SUV.

  It was only then that he realized he had walked into Ehud Tzur’s honey trap like a blind man and hated himself for this fact. Once again, the prime minister had emotionally manipulated him with infuriating ease. He had no doubt that Ehud Tzur had an innate talent for throwing a stone at a hornets’ nest and always blaming others for the results.

  * * *

  4Proverbs 11:14.

  Chapter 5

  The Fall

  Arik waited impatiently for Eva in the hotel’s elegant lobby. He stood at the foot of the massive staircase with its large marble steps, looking at her as she walked toward the upper staircase, which she had decided to use due to the crowd by the elevator door.

  Although the pregnancy had changed the shape of her body, he still saw Eva as more beautiful and radiant than ever. He gazed at her lovingly when their eyes met, smiling at her.

  And then it happened.

  Apparently, Eva experienced a sudden moment of dizziness and lost her balance. She tried to grab the banister, but her patent leather shoes slipped on the marble step. She began to roll down, her face crashing into the stairs again and again. Arik shouted helplessly and stood there, paralyzed, watching the horrific scene unfold in front of his eyes. By the fourth step, he saw that Eva had lost consciousness. Her head continued to crash powerfully into the descending stone steps, again and again. Her right arm was apparently broken and looked like a marionette’s hand, bent forward at a strange angle. Her pregnant belly struck each step, again and again, until she reached the floor of the spacious lobby, where her forehead hit the metal post of the black banister lattice with immense force.

  A deep cut gaped in her forehead, above her right eye, spewing blood that stained her face, the milky white stairs, and her dress. Screams of shock from the women who had witnessed the terrible scene echoed all round them.

  The entire event took less than ten seconds. But his mind was racing at such a dizzying speed that he felt as if the duration of the event itself could not catch up to the speed of his thoughts, and it seemed to take place in slow motion. Adrenaline stemming from pure fear at a high octane flooded Arik’s brain. It was truly hard to recall when he had ever been so scared. He wasn’t sure if he heard himself yell, “Eva!”

  He leaped and ran to her with a heartbroken cry, yelling at the manager of the reception office to call an ambulance immediately. Kneeling, he looked at the unconscious Eva, lying there motionless, face down, at the bottom of the staircase. Her hair was soaked with blood.

  Arik worked like an automaton. He extended two fingers toward her neck, seeking a pulse. He felt relief when he sensed a rapid pulse and saw her breathing. She didn’t vomit, and her eyes were closed. He brought his lips to her ear and called her name. She didn’t react. His hands moved on to comb over her scalp, searching for open wounds, but did not find a thing. His fingers mapped out her body, looking
for broken ribs. Her eyes were now half-closed.

  Arik pulled her eyelids open and looked at her eyes. Eva was not seizing, but her pupils were unequal in size. This scared Arik, as he was afraid it might indicate a brain hemorrhage. The manager of the hotel arrived and knelt beside him. She informed him that the ambulance was on its way and asked what she could do.

  “Bring me clean towels, a champagne bucket with ice cubes and a large bottle of water, immediately!” Arik commanded, his lip trembling.

  The manager returned within several minutes carrying a few towels, a large water bottle, and a bucket with ice cubes. Arik took a few ice cubes and placed them in a towel, which he soaked with water. He pressed it firmly against the cut on Eva’s eyebrow, but she continued to bleed. He asked the hotel manager to press down until the flow of blood ceased. Taking a clean towel, he moistened it and used it to clean Eva’s beautiful face. As a result of the hard blows, her appearance had changed, the swelling distorting her face.

  He heard the rapid stride of military shoes behind him. Looking up, he saw three handsome men hovering above him, wearing firefighter uniforms and holding kits with emergency medical equipment.

  “Monsieur, please let us approach Madame,” one of them requested assertively, kneeling beside Arik while the other two laid out a gurney and resuscitation equipment on the floor. Arik stepped aside reluctantly.

  “She rolled down all seventeen of those steps,” Arik pointed at the staircase, which was stained with Eva’s blood.

  The team of firefighters worked quietly and professionally. They checked Eva’s vital signs, aiming a flashlight at her pupils in order to assess brain activity. Afterwards, they stabilized her head with a cervical collar. Her broken arm was placed in a brace and tied to her body. An aluminum backboard was inserted under her body, and she was secured to it with canvas straps. Two of the firefighters lifted the metal board, with the restrained Eva upon it, onto the gurney, wheeling it into the ambulance. Eva was connected to several small monitors, an IV infusing her body with fluids.