Sally moved toward her, treading cautiously on the thick carpet. Vivian stood up, embracing her in a cloud of heavy perfume. “Sally, my dear, my friend, I’m so happy to seeing you!”
“To see you,” Sally corrected her, and immediately regretted it. She wasn’t here to teach Vivian Hebrew.
“Come, I ordered us a table.” Vivian took her by the arm and led her to the café on the edge of the lobby. Vivian’s mobile phone rang but she didn’t respond, or even check who was calling.
As they sat across from each other, Sally couldn’t take her eyes off the diamond on Vivian’s chest. “I see you to watch my diamond.” Vivian smiled. “It’s nothing. I have bigger ones. Solly—I mean Shalom, my husband—left me nothing when he went bankrupt. But the jewelry he bought me remained.”
“You can’t eat jewelry,” Sally wryly commented.
“I have people who take care of food,” Vivian replied.
Sally knew who Vivian was referring to. Everyone knew about Vivian’s connections to the King of Morocco, who kept a number of mistresses across the globe. Vivian too was not overly discreet. She bent over to Sally and said, “You probably know who—the King of Morocco. Yes, none other. But you can never tell anyone.”
“Good for you,” Sally said, flattering her.
“He doesn’t just help with money, but also with business. What do you want in Morocco I will bring you. Oil, phosphates, textile, hotel.” She put her hand on Sally’s arm. “You know, I was thinking today, we can do a lot of business together. You are smart and know languages and understand money, and I bring connections. We also both believe in God and keep his commandments, which means we will not cheat each other. You only found God recently, right? You still have red nail polish on your fingers.”
Sally looked at Vivian’s fingers. Her nails were well-kept, but covered in transparent nail polish. “Yes, I—” Sally stuttered, “How can I put it? I suddenly realized…”
“We are all like this,” said Vivian. “For me it also take time until I see light.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” confessed Sally. “I need guidance. That’s why I called you. I remembered you always knew rabbis and righteous people.”
“Great!” exclaimed Vivian. “I have exactly the man you have need. A great rabbi, a holy man. He helps many people around the world, in America, Europe, and even Japan. Big people, rich people…”
“Like who?”
“Did you heard of Pierre Marin?”
“Yes, he’s very rich.”
“Also very difficult and closed. He only listen to the rabbi I send him. This rabbi help him a lot in life. Save him from sickness. Alone, without operation. Only by power God give him. You can believe this?”
“That’s exactly the kind of rabbi I need.”
“I give you his cellular number. Private-private. Only me and maybe few others know it. Tell him I send you.”
“Does he live in America?”
“No, here in Beersheba. Very modest man. Live in small house with wife and six children. You cannot go to him, he come to meet you here in Hilton.” She leaned over again. “And if you need something from Marin, also this the rabbi can make. Marin know he have great spiritual power, and believes every word he say. He had very bad sickness, and the rabbi said him not to go to operation, and prayed for him. What do you think happen? Marin is completely cure! His son have emotional problems, you know, and the rabbi also cure him, and now Marin wife also become crazy, she wants to go from him, and the rabbi keep her with him…”
The admiration on Vivian Moyal’s face when she spoke of the rabbi didn’t surprise Sally. She also considered her naïve. But what would cause a lucid and experienced businessman like Pierre Marin to view a con man as a saint?
“So let’s make partnership together,” Vivian continued. “Marin wants to build stations electrical in Pakistan, and I tell him, ‘I can make that.’ King of Morocco send me to Islamabad and arrange that everybody talk to me, even the president. We already make first meeting with Marin in Geneva. Not so much come from this, but I have plan for him. Many plans. I just need help, Rabbi Ben David to influence him from one side and someone like you who know business on the other.”
The nature of Ben David, Vivian, and Marin’s connections were now clear to Sally, as was her need to warn Marin of them—the sooner the better. But Vivian had no intention of letting her go. “I give you fifty percent of all we make. What you say?”
“We’ve just returned from our assignment and I’d like to dedicate myself to the family and to running a kosher household. Later, I’ll gladly join you. In the meantime, please give me the rabbi’s number.”
Vivian’s face immediately assumed an expression of disinterest. “Too bad,” she said, “I so need a partner, and when you call—”
“I’m sorry,” Sally replied. “So, the rabbi’s number?”
“Actually, I’m not sure he is for you. He is big and holy, and you only begin to become stronger. Maybe look someone in Hibbat Brak.”
“Just anyone in Hibbat Brak won’t do. If you want me to become more dedicated, arrange a meeting between us.”
“Okay, I arrange,” said Vivian in a tone that left Sally sure that no such meeting would take place. She stood up. “Take care,” she said, “and don’t forget me.”
“Yes, yes,” said Vivian. Her phone rang again. This time she took the call, ignoring Sally.
9.
As soon as she stepped into the car, Sally removed the headscarf and opened the window, allowing the wind to blow through her hair. At home, she stuffed the long skirt and modest blouse deep into her closet. She made herself a coffee and thought about what Vivian had told her. From the outset, she had known that Ben David entrapped rich men, including Marin. His connection to Vivian Moyal wasn’t yet clear to her, but she had no doubt that regarding Marin, Vivian was involved; busy planning a way to take a chunk out of his fortune.
How did the two succeed in entrapping such a shrewd businessman? How did they maintain Marin’s dependence on the imposter rabbi? She remembered Vivian’s words: “What he tells Marin—Marin does.” She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Vivian was the one to weave the ties between Ben David and his victims, which she knew through her ex-husband or her current lover, the King of Morocco. Had she also activated the Moroccan secret service to inquire about Marin? If so, perhaps they had uncovered a secret that made him submit to them?
The thought that Morocco’s secret service was involved in the affair terrified her for a moment. She remembered the Pakistani general al-Sharif and the balls he held, and especially the conversation where he told her, “We’re worse than the Nazis.” The reputation of Morocco’s intelligence agency was no better. During the course that she took ahead of their mission, she learned how it made a Moroccan opposition leader, Mehdi Ben Barka, disappear after he was kidnapped from a Paris café. He was killed, his body melted in a bath of acid.
The next moment, her fear had dissipated, replaced by a sense of responsibility. Sally felt again, for the umpteenth time, that she must warn Marin away from those who had taken control of his life. To do so, however, she must show him solid proof.
It was time to make contact with Ben David. She wrote down his address in Beersheba and typed it into a road navigator on her phone. The program immediately displayed the street number and the house. “I met Vivian Moyal and am leaving tomorrow for Beersheba to see where Ben David lives,” she told Jerry when he returned home.
“Tomorrow is Friday,” he said with surprise.
“It’s the only day I don’t have to be at work,” she reminded him. “I’ll cook tonight, clean the house tomorrow morning for the Sabbath, and then leave.”
“Just be careful,” Jerry said in a worried tone.
“Why? What danger could come from a manipulative woman and an imposter rabbi?”
“Imp
osters can become dangerous when their disguise is torn from them and their plans thwarted, and you have no experience with such things. You haven’t even—”
“I haven’t served in the army. I know,” Sally said, annoyed. “But how many women who did serve would have withstood the pressure of living in a target country, under cover, making connections with anyone and everyone, and even giving birth without being exposed? You know what, maybe not having served in the army makes me want to prove I can do things that women who served cannot!”
“All right.” Jerry relented. “You’ve proven it all. I take back the army business. You don’t need to prove anything, certainly not to me.”
“I need to prove things to myself,” Sally replied. “My father always used to say that man must aspire to mend the world, and effect positive change for his environment, his community, and the people of Israel. He believes there is always hope for improvement, and that’s how he raised me to think.”
“This world is irreparable,” Jerry moaned. “I’m going to rest.”
10.
She left town before noon, when Jerry retired to the bedroom to read the weekend newspapers and the house was clean and filled with the smell of food. A cloud of desert dust rested over Beersheba and the navigator sent her car to a neighborhood of small, modest houses, as Vivian described. However, the rabbi’s home could hardly be described as modest. It protruded into a public garden located behind it, and grew to become a mansion. A high wall surrounded the house, and beyond it the sound of children’s laughter could be heard. Sally parked her car at a certain distance and walked back. When she passed by the gate, she noticed a surveillance camera attached to it. She crossed the street to the opposite sidewalk and walked past the house again, far from the camera. Now she noticed more details: A large mailbox with no name, an intercom panel, and metal spikes atop the wall, meant to prevent climbing. Even the house number affixed to the wall by the municipality was pulled off, leaving a light square. Whoever comes here, she thought, knows his way to the house even without identifying signs.
What now? Should she enter? For a moment, she thought of ringing and asking for an address in the area. Then she decided to say that her car had broken down and ask for help. She ruled out both ideas. No one would believe that she decided to choose the least inviting house on the block. She also decided she must not be exposed to the eyes of the rabbi and his family at such an early stage of her investigation. Her eye caught sight of a gray communications box located at the edge of the well, next to a thick tree. She removed her shoes and hoisted herself onto the box, and from there to the tree. Her childhood experience assisted her as she quickly climbed to a branch in the middle of the tree, hidden in its foliage.
When she looked down at the yard, she was surprised to find a swimming pool surrounded by a large lawn. Three children, two boys and a girl, played in the water. A woman of about forty-five, wearing a bikini, exited the house carrying a tray with sandwiches. She called to the children to come to the table, situated on the porch. The children rushed to her and their voices reached Sally, who looked at the spectacle with amazement. No rabbi would allow his wife to wear such an immodest swimsuit, all the more so an imposter rabbi, who could leave no doubt as to his level of devoutness.
She was sorry she hadn’t brought a camera and did her best to capture the mother and her children in the lens of her mobile phone. Then she bent down and peeked into the home’s interior. She could see a large dining room table, a sitting room, and a muted television, flashing. There were no candlesticks waiting to be lit and no scent of cooked food for the Sabbath. Evening began to fall. The wife and her children entered the home. Sally called Jerry. “I’m late,” she said in a low voice. “I’m staking out Ben David’s house. Something very interesting is happening there.”
“Take care of yourself,” said Jerry. “And don’t worry. I’ll eat dinner with the children.”
Friday night dinner was a meaningful event at the Amir household, an opportunity for a family gathering often joined by Jerry’s mother, Sally’s parents, and her two brothers. Sometimes they would spend it with her parents in the moshav. Her father would make Kiddush, break bread, and oversee the traditional singing of “Shalom Aleichem,” sharing words of Torah with the guests. Sally was saddened, but her sense of duty was stronger. She was also curious about Ben David’s strange world.
A white Lexus approached the house. When it stopped in front of the gate, a powerful spotlight shone down on it, next to the camera. In the bright light Sally recognized Ben David, who stepped out of the car on the driver’s side. His head was uncovered and he was dressed in everyday clothes. Only the beard remained from the rabbi’s persona.
Vivian Moyal stepped out of the back seat. Her long dress was now replaced with a short skirt exposing her knees and a short-sleeved shirt. The rabbi’s wife, who changed into jeans and a light blouse, approached her. The two kissed like old friends. Both women and the rabbi entered the house and immediately the light in the living room was switched on, and Sally could see them sitting on the couch. The rabbi squeezed in between them. Vivian clung to his body and put her hand on his thigh. The three seemed close, as though safeguarding a secret. The rabbi’s wife stood up and served dinner. Sally couldn’t identify the food, but Vivian and the rabbi were eating their dishes with chopsticks. Was their Friday night dinner ordered at a Chinese restaurant? Sally wondered.
11.
As she sped back to Tel Aviv on the dark Highway 6, Sally’s thoughts came to a realization: The fraud and impersonation the rabbi thrived on were not meant to deceive victims living in close vicinity to him, but rather those who lived far away from Beersheba and could never know that not only was Ben David not a rabbi, he wasn’t even religiously observant, and certainly not holy.
The trip to Beersheba didn’t answer any of Sally’s questions, only lengthened the list. But there was a way to solve the riddle, and peeking from atop a tree wasn’t good enough. She would have to find a pro to work with her. She dialed Jerry. “Have you eaten?” she asked.
“Yes, it was very tasty. We saved you a serving of every dish.”
Sally laughed. “Don’t you know I don’t eat my cooking? Tasting makes me lose my appetite.”
“You’ll see. By the time you return you’ll be so hungry you’ll—”
Sally cut him off. “I need you to help me.”
“Oh well.” Jerry let out a fake sigh. “That’s my role in the world.”
“I need your experience. I found Ben David and staked out his house. Something there is very wrong. His wife walks around in a bikini, he doesn’t wear rabbi’s clothes, and he drives on Shabbat. Guess who else drives with him?”
“Vivian Moyal,” Jerry said without hesitation.
“Well, you were always smart.”
“Did you take pictures?”
“Only on my phone. I didn’t bring a camera. I didn’t believe everything would be so exposed and cheeky.”
“Okay. All you need to do is give the photos to Marin and your account with him will be closed.”
“It’s not enough,” insisted Sally. “Photos mean nothing these days. You can always claim they were Photoshopped. I must know more, understand what they’re planning, who is collaborating with them, and especially how they make Marin admire than con man Dadoshvili. When I met Vivian, she said she had a plan for Marin. I need to know those plans.”
Jerry was silent, and Sally knew he was remembering a list of people he knew. “There is a way,” he said finally. “We’ll talk when you get here.”
She spent the rest of the drive impatient. “Jerry!” she called when she entered the house.
He approached her.
“What’s your idea?” She asked him in a whisper.
“You can speak normally, or even shout. The children are asleep.”
“Tell me while I make coffee.” She took him by t
he sleeve and dragged him to the kitchen. “Do you want some too?”
He shook his head. “You were right to say on the phone that photos don’t prove anything now. You need quality evidence, which comes in only two forms: Testimony or eavesdropping.”
“I won’t get anyone’s testimony.”
“And eavesdropping is a criminal offense,” Jerry quickly continued.
Sally thought for a moment. “But that’s the only way open to me.”
“Then let go of this project. Don’t get involved.”
“I have to.”
“You owe it to Marin. I understand. But Marin is just an excuse. He is a rich and powerful man. He’ll manage. What motivates you is the need for action, for thrills. Why don’t you join a hiking club, learn to sail a yacht, or volunteer with battered women? You can get your thrills without breaking the law.”
“I’m not looking for thrills. I’m looking for justice. I can’t stand the fact that a Jew would cheat another Jew in such a despicable manner.”
“Again this mending the world business?” Jerry spread out his arms in frustration. Sally could identify. He also couldn’t stand injustice, but his passive and conservative personality prevented him from crossing the line to thwart it. She took his hand and said, “Do you think it’s right that a Jew who donates and helps out other Jews so much would be the victim of fraud with no one to assist him?”
“I don’t understand you,” said Jerry, “I just don’t. Let’s say he helps Jews, and that one Jew pretends to be a rabbi and defrauds him, why do you care so much?”
“What is a Jew for you?”
“Oh, come on…”
“No, tell me, what is a Jew?”
“The regular things: circumcision, Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, Purim…”
Married to the Mossad Page 4
