Harry's Rules

by Michael R. Davidson

  She stepped out of the tub and began to towel herself dry in front of the full length mirror that made up an entire wall of the bathroom. Perhaps triggered by the sight of her own nude, well-toned body and the rough nub of the towel against her skin like the beard of a lover, she found herself unexpectedly imagining what the American would be like in bed.

  Oops! This won’t do! Don’t go there!

  She tried to suppress the libidinous images that sprang to mind. During her university days sex had been fun, a casual recreation, but she had not been in a long-term sexual relationship for a long time. Work had taken precedence. She had other goals, fired by the memory of her father and the loyal friendship and example of Eitan Ronan. By the time she reached thirty, relationships were a thing of the distant past and sentiment a luxury she left behind with no regrets. Now she felt forgotten warmth spreading through her abdomen as her thoughts returned unbidden to Connolly and his broad shoulders.

  She closed her eyes and stamped her bare foot on the marble floor.

  “This is completely irrational,” she said aloud to her image in the mirror. “This is unprofessional.”

  *****

  Even after the semi-somnolent drive from Tel-Aviv, I was still tired and spent the better part of an hour stretched on the bed preoccupied by Ronan’s offer and its implications. Only a few weeks ago my world had been circumscribed by a long daily commute to a dead-end job, a small cabin, and a little black dog. It had not been much of a life. All the same, it had been my life, and as unsatisfying as it had become, the choices all along had been my own, the bad ones included – mostly bad ones.

  These reflections were interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and Sasha poked her head in.

  “Are you feeling better? Why don’t we go down and have something to eat?”

  She had changed into a blouse and skirt. It had been awhile since I had seen her wearing anything but jeans and sweaters.

  “You look beautiful.”

  She smiled at the compliment. In fact, she smiled all the way downstairs as we went to join Moshe and Marnie around the kitchen table for a light supper of wine, cheese, bread and fruit.

  CHAPTER 55 - Caesarea

  Afterwards, we walked onto the veranda to watch the Mediterranean swallow the sun. A cool breeze blew in from the sea, and carried the scent of Sasha’s freshly shampooed hair – strawberries – and drew me closer to her like an insect drunk on pheromones.

  She didn’t move away. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?,” she said, her eyes still on the sea. “I hope you appreciate what Eitan is doing for you.”

  We had not had a real conversation, just the two of us, since that night in her apartment in Vienna, and I didn’t feel like talking about the Golem or his proposal now.

  “I never got to ask you about that unarmed combat demonstration to put on in Marbella.”

  She looked up with a soft laugh. I couldn’t remember hearing her laugh before. It was nice.

  “That was Krav Maga. It’s a form of hand-to-hand combat developed a long time ago by a Hungarian Jew named Imi Lichtenfeld. It’s really just dirty street fighting carried to the nth degree.”

  There was pride in her voice when she added, “I was tops in my class.”

  “Why didn’t Ronan intervene? It wasn’t necessary for you to take that kind of chance against an armed man.”

  She gave me a blank stare and stepped back a pace.

  “Don’t be foolish. That’s what I’m trained to do. We did not want Eitan to be seen at all, no matter what. This was critical to the success of our plan. He would have stepped in if absolutely necessary, but then we would have had to kill them all, and there would have been no one to report to the Russians that it was Harry Connolly who had come to Marbella. Besides, after you shot the first one, it was only one man, and I never doubted the outcome. And as for Eitan, he was in another part of the house when they came through the front door and didn’t realize they were there until the commotion in Yudin’s office.”

  “He seems to make it a habit of letting people walk into dangerous situations so he can see what happens. That’s what got Stankov killed and my neck nearly broken.”

  She had the grace to look regretful, although she did not hesitate to defend her mentor.

  “By the time we saw what was happening, Stankov was already dead, and the Russian was on top of you.”

  “Stankov was killed because Ronan made a mistake, a fatal mistake. And he made another one in Marbella.”

  The memory of Stankov’s death dragged my bitterness back to the surface. I didn’t want it to happen, but there it was – a wound that refused to heal.

  “He’s good. I'll give him that, but even the best of us screws up sooner or later. You may worship him, but Ronan is no god.”

  “I don’t worship him,” she retorted with some heat. She stepped farther away from me to the edge of the veranda and looked out at the sea, her back to me, hands on the balustrade.

  “He is a bachir, my senior officer, and my mentor. He recruited me into Mossad from the IDF, and I owe him a lot more than you can imagine.”

  She turned back to face me, hugging herself against the chill that had descended over the conversation.

  “You should trust him. He has your best interests at heart.”

  I took a step toward her. I didn’t want to argue with her, but the words came nonetheless.

  “He has only Mossad’s best interests at heart.”

  “And you still don’t understand about Yudin, do you?”

  She regarded me solemnly with those unwavering hazel eyes.

  “It was I who insisted that he must die.”

  I was taken aback, and when I didn’t reply immediately, she turned away again, concealing her face. Her voice drained of emotion, she continued, “It was clear from what he told me that the Russians could still use him. In fact, he was key to their plans and complicit in their crimes. We could not leave him alive to help them, and we no longer needed him as a witness because the other Russian could play that role. It was the correct decision under difficult circumstances. Israel is engaged in a permanent war, and …”

  “I know, I know. It’s the Mossad’s excuse for everything.” I was exasperated and struggling to control my rising gorge. “Ronan recited the whole permanent war thing to me yesterday. It’s a popular justification that permits Mossad agents to do whatever they damn well please. But right now, I don’t want to talk about Ronan’s ideals or his ideas for me. I need time to think and put things into perspective. One thing is certain: he has the best interests of Israel and the Mossad in mind, and nothing more. That’s just who he is, and maybe who you are, too.”

  Her eyes flared green fire. Our cozy moment evaporated in the heat.

  “Yes, Harry. I’m sure that’s what he was thinking as he held Jonathan Netanyahu’s dead body in his arms as they flew out of Entebbe in ‘76, or when he was fighting the Egyptians with Sharon!”

  Netanyahu had been the commander the Sayeret Mat’kal, the commandos who pulled off the legendary Entebbe rescue. Ronan was the product of his experiences. He had been fighting Israel’s battles for a long time, perhaps too long.

  “I think we should turn in for the night,” she went to the door. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  The smack of the door against the frame was like a slap in the face, and I experienced a disconcerting sense of loss. We had had a few nice moments. Her scent still hung in the air.

  Early next morning, I was already seated at the kitchen table when she came down back in her standard jeans uniform. I rose and pulled a chair out for her.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to insult you or Ronan. I’m just trying to make sense of all that’s happened.”

  “I forgive you,” she said, but her voice was neutral. “We’ll go out today and avoid serious talk.

  We drove to the shopping district and spent an hour or so buying more clothes for me. Following a light lunch of fried fish and chi
ps at one of the many upscale cafes, we finished the afternoon taking in the sights of the ancient city.

  CHAPTER 56 – Cause for Apology

  Sasha’s mood lightened as we saw the sights. Caesarea was dedicated to Caesar by Herod the Great over 2000 years ago and was replete with relics of the ancient civilization. Originally the site of a Phoenician port, it had been conquered and re-conquered many times. Herod made it the grandest city other than Jerusalem in Palestine, with a deep sea harbor, aqueduct, hippodrome and amphitheater. Eventually it became the home of the Roman governors of Judea and was the capital of Roman and Byzantine Palestine.

  Archaeological digs begun in the 1950’s uncovered the remains of these magnificent artifacts and structures. Over the years the city had become more cosmopolitan as the Israeli elite began to build their mansions there. It was an easy commute either to Tel-Aviv to the south or Haifa to the north. Herod the Great had had a good eye for real estate.

  We returned to the house just as the sun was dipping into the olive colored Mediterranean spreading an orange glare over its surface, and by the time I showered and changed into fresh clothes Marnie had a fine spread on the dining room table. And again in egalitarian Israeli fashion she and her husband joined us to eat. Marnie had pulled out all the stops, apparently having spent the entire afternoon cooking, and by the time we finally pushed back from the table, we had consumed two bottles of excellent Bordeaux. While Marnie and Moshe cleared the detritus of the meal, Sasha and I retired to the living room where the ornate fireplace contained a blazing wood fire.

  I studied the contents of the well-stocked bar. “Do you prefer vodka or scotch?”

  “I'll try some scotch with you.”

  I found a bottle of The Macallan 18-year-old single malt among the many offerings and poured us each a couple of fingers.

  Sasha kicked off her shoes and nestled into a corner of the sofa, tucking her legs under. She still wore the habitual jeans, a white cotton pullover, and a green wool sweater wrapped around her shoulders. I studied her perfect profile.

  I had known her for only a short, tumultuous period, but she was without doubt the most remarkable woman I had ever met. I had only just begun to plumb the depths of her character and abilities.

  Kate and I had been high-school sweethearts and my familiarity with the intimate habits of single women in the 90’s was negligible. I had been deeply in love with my wife and that loyalty now tugged at my conscience, but whether it was the stresses to which I had been subjected, the continuing uncertainty of my situation, the prospect of beginning an entirely new life, or just because she was so damned beautiful, I was developing feelings for Sasha and had no idea what to do about them.

  All case officers are amateur psychologists, and I was no stranger to the way men and women related to one under extraordinary circumstances. It was possible, even probable that Sasha’s only objectives were those of a Mossad operative trained to salute and give all for her country. Wily Ronan the Golem had thrown us together several times, and now he had done it again, this time in an unambiguously intimate setting. I should have kept my mouth shut, but the scotch loosened some inhibitions.

  “So, why did Ronan send you along with me, Sasha? Does he think I’ll try to escape?”

  She daintily sipped her scotch, gazing into the fire.

  “Don’t you enjoy my company?”

  “Of course, I enjoy your company, but Ronan always has a reason for what he does. He is, as you said, your bachir, and you’re following his orders.”

  I felt as awkward as a high school kid on his first date.

  She frowned slightly as she tried to extract meaning from my words.

  “Eitan wants very much for you to accept his offer. It should be obvious to you that he hopes I can help convince you to do so.”

  This was what I expected but not what I wanted to hear. Despite a warning voice in my head that said to back off, I plunged recklessly on.

  “What do YOU think, Sasha? What do you advise me to do?”

  She turned to face me, eyes flashing green sparks as she divined my meaning.

  “You think he ordered me to sleep with you?”

  She was angry. Must all our conversations end like this? Was it real anger or case officer sham?

  “I am a professional intelligence officer. I have a job to do, and I think I do it reasonably well. If I were a man, Eitan would still have sent me with you because you know me and you trust me - at least I thought you did. I would have thought you of all people would understand this.”

  She didn’t wait for a response. “If our roles were reversed, would you handle the situation differently? I think not. My job is to guard and protect you. It’s just a job.”

  She turned away. “Instead, all you apparently see is this exterior, and like all men your libido has taken control of your brain. There always comes a point where men think more with their cocks than their heads!”

  The vulgarity shocked me, and I felt suddenly foolish.

  “Sasha, what the hell is the matter with you? I never mentioned sex.” Well, maybe I hadn’t said the word, but my argument was as weak as a politician quibbling about the meaning of “is.” Open mouth wide, insert foot. I was hoisted on my own petard. She knew it and I knew it.

  She bolted to her feet.

  “Once again you’ve spoiled what until now was a very nice day. I’m going to bed.”

  “Please sit back down.”

  I couldn’t let her walk away like this. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sorry.”

  She halted her march out of the room and returned to stand, arms akimbo, facing me. I had never seen her so flustered. What did that mean?

  I tried to explain myself.

  “The past few weeks have completely and forever

  altered my life, and I’m trying to get my bearings.

  Believe me when I tell you that I respect your qualities and capabilities. And I do appreciate your being here with me. In fact, there is no one else I would want to be here.”

  She was a beautiful woman, and she could have no doubts about the effect she had on men. While she had not incorrectly inferred and then protested the implications of my questions, this only called more attention to her femininity.

  But she was perfectly capable of calculating that her outburst would push me further toward accepting Ronan’s proposal. She was, after all, still an intelligence officer, and so was I. Our choreography was becoming confused, and I was stepping on her toes. We both knew the steps to the dance, but execution was becoming difficult.

  “I accept your apology. I think I’ll go up to bed now – alone.”

  After the door closed firmly behind her for the second night in a row, I poured another whiskey, a large one, and sat there for a long while staring into the flames.

  Too much was happening too quickly. Perversely, our argument this evening made me even more certain that I wanted this exceptional, witty, and self-reliant human being in my life whether she was manipulating me or not.

  She had become the only constant in the otherwise chaotic universe I had come to inhabit.

  CHAPTER 57 – Deal

  After a week at the villa passed carefully tiptoeing around sensitive conversational topics, we returned to Tel-Aviv to meet the Golem in a room in a high-rise beachfront hotel. A table was covered with the standard Israeli luncheon fare: fresh bread, yogurt, the ubiquitous hummus, olives, fresh fruit, juices, a selection of cold meats, and a mound of sweet pastries.

  At the appointed hour Ronan strode through the door and greeted us warmly, surprising me with a bear hug that did no good for still-mending ribs. Ronan zeroed in on the table groaning with Israeli goodies and roared enthusiastically, “Let’s eat! I’ve been stuck in meetings all morning, and I’m hungry.”

  I was certain the meetings had concerned me.

  Sasha and I had not returned to the subject of Ronan’s proposal after our disastrous late evening set-to. By silent consent we likewise did not retur
n to the subject that I suspected preoccupied both of us. We shared long walks along the beach, nice lunches in trendy Caesarea bistros, and always a hearty repast in the evening in the company of Moshe and Marnie, whom I came inevitably to think of as “Mickey and Minnie.”

  There had been plenty of time to think about choices. The past few weeks had altered my life forever, and there was no going back. I knew what I would say to Ronan. It was risky, but if successful the gambit would preserve my self-respect.

  The big Israeli moved to the table and heaped food onto a plate. He waved a large serving spoon at us.

  “Come on, you two. We need full stomachs today.”

  We worked our way through the meal while Ronan asked a string of innocuous questions about our stay in Caesarea.

  “You like the way the Mossad lives, Harry? Did the house live up to your expectations?”

  “Just about everything you’ve done since I met you has exceeded expectations. The house was no exception. Thanks for the hospitality.”

  At last, coffee cup in hand, Ronan became serious.

  “OK, let’s get down to business. Are you ready to talk about it?”

  “I told you I needed time to think, and you granted it to me. I thank you for that. I’ve decided to accept your offer.”

  Ronan’s face creased in his shark smile, and he extended his hand. “You won’t regret this.”

  I waved the Israeli’s hand away.

  “With some conditions.”

  Ronan sat back with a thump, and the smile disappeared; his eyes narrowed as he anticipated a bargaining session. There is no one better at bargaining than Israelis, but I was gambling that I could win this match.

  With a rueful expression Ronan said, “I already agreed that you would never be asked to work against the interests of the United States.” The CIA had screwed me; my country had not.

  Across the room, Sasha folded her arms. She had no idea what I was going to say.