“And what did he say?”
“He wants me to come to Geneva tomorrow. I told him I wouldn’t go alone, so he promised to buy you a ticket too. First class, no less. I just need to give our details to his secretary.”
Jerry let out a chuckle. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“You don’t really expect me to leave everything and go tomorrow. I can take a vacation in say, a month, at the earliest.”
“Jerry, honey, you know how long I’ve been waiting for this. In Pakistan, you told me to wait until we return to Israel, and I did. In Israel, you told me to wait until I have enough incriminating information against Ben David. I waited. Today I waited for hours until Marin got back to me, and now you want me to wait until you can take a vacation?”
“They expect you at work tomorrow,” he reminded her.
“I have fantastic colleagues in my department. They’ll make do, and anything that goes wrong can be solved over the phone or the Internet.”
“And what will you do with the children?”
“My mother will come and stay with them.”
“We’ve ordered an air-conditioning technician for tomorrow,” Jerry reminded her. “We’ve been chasing him for a week until he found the time to come.”
“My mom will let him in.”
“Will your mom also go to work for me?”
“She is actually the spying type. Oh well,” said Sally impatiently, “I can’t wait. I’m going to fly to him tomorrow, with or without you.”
“Fly without me,” said Jerry in his usual calm.
“Are you serious?”
“Completely serious. Now let me work.”
Sally went to her bedroom and pulled her worn suitcase out of the closet. She folded in a satin Pierre Cardin blouse, red Diesel trousers, and a skimpy black Marni dress, which she planned to turn into an elegant evening dress with the help of a pearl necklace and a pair of Stuart Weitzman sandals. During the day she would add a black Chanel jacket and Tod’s shoes, a perfect costume for work meetings with businessmen or lawyers. She trusted her ability to make casual clothes seem luxurious on her sporty and trim physique. She never compromised on staying in shape, and even while traveling the world she would do certain exercises in between flights, helping keep her muscles toned.
Sally threw in underwear and toiletries when the phone rang again. “I’ll travel with you,” Jerry said. “I think you’re crazy, and if I don’t go with you a disaster could take place.”
Sally leaped for joy. “Never mind the reason,” she said, “as long as you’re by my side.”
20.
Only later in the evening, after she had finished packing and Jerry was tying up loose ends at the office before the trip, did Sally wonder about the urgency Marin had applied in his request for her to come. His wife had been away from home for many weeks, and he didn’t sound especially bothered when she told him she knew where she was. The loss was indeed important to him, but he made no effort to find it. The only thing that shook him from his subdued, indifferent mode of speech was the motive Sally attributed to Ben David and Moyal—money. Was that the most important thing for him?
When Jerry arrived, she shared her thoughts with him. “He’s a man who’s used to controlling money,” was Jerry’s assessment. “I think what motivates him now is his sense he’s lost control. For a person used to perpetual success, whose orders are carried out immediately, lack of control is a trauma.” He smiled.
“We’ve met people like that before, haven’t we? A few of them work at my office, and we ran into others during assignments abroad. General al-Sharif in Pakistan, for example.”
“Tomorrow we’ll find out who he really is.” Sally hugged him. “And thanks for coming with me.”
At five a.m., a fancy car picked them up—ordered by the omnipotent Madame Calderon. At the entrance to the airport terminal, a woman awaited them in a tailored suit. “Madame et Monsieur Amir?” she asked, then when answered in the affirmative handed Sally an envelope with two tickets. The way to the airplane was fast and easy, and the first-class department on board greeted them with cozy seats and the scent of fine perfume. After takeoff, breakfast was served, featuring smoked salmon, Swiss cheeses and fresh baked goods served hot from the oven. The earphones emitted classical music, and Sally let her thoughts carry her away. What would she tell Marin when they met, and what would happen following the meeting? Would he listen, read the material she brought, thank her, and send her back to the airport? Would she ask him to reimburse the funds she had committed to pay Jacob and Diana? Would she have to return to Israel at her own expense?
That final thought made her angry at herself for not agreeing with Marin on the details of her return. Right after their landing, as they exited the sleeve leading from the airplane, they noticed a gray-haired man holding a sign that read “Amir.” “I’m Jacques,” he introduced himself when they approached him. “I’m Mr. Marin’s personal assistant. He asked me to meet you and accompany you to his home in Gstaad.”
“Gstaad?” asked Jerry, surprised. “That’s not close.”
“It’s also not far,” Jacques assured them. He led them to passport control, and after signaling with his finger, a special counter opened for them, where a smiling clerk quickly stamped their passports. Their suitcases were already waiting on a trolley at the arrivals hall, overseen by a porter who carried them from the plane. Jacques handed him a money note and looked at the luggage with surprise. Sally assumed he was expecting heavier suitcases from Marin’s guests. He signaled to the porter to follow them to a black limousine, much longer than the one that had brought them to the airport in Israel. A driver stepped out and easily loaded the two suitcases into the boot. Jacques opened one of the doors for Sally and Jerry and waited for them to sit on a round couch, upholstered in velvet. He then lightly shut the door and sat next to the driver. For a moment, Sally could still see him through the glass barrier, but it soon turned dark and he disappeared.
“Where have you brought us?” mumbled Jerry.
“I don’t know, but I feel it getting better moment by moment.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “You and your optimism!”
Heavy curtains, made of fine Indian fabric, covered the car windows. Sally quickly opened them, and the rural view enveloped her and Jerry. The narrow road wound through toy houses that looked as if they were taken straight from the postcards she received from her uncles overseas. Cows, roaming the fields a short distance from the car, stared at them with wide, surprised eyes and chewed their cud. As the road wound upward, the air turned thinner and sweeter. Sally felt like she was entering a fairy tale. Five hours ago, she and her husband had left their home in north Tel Aviv—which she imagined now crowded with people and cars—and were transported, like Alice, to a green wonderland.
The hilltop grew closer. The road widened, and beds of garden flowers bloomed alongside it. The limousine stopped next to a gate made of steel and marble. Jacques lowered the glass partition. “Welcome to the private castle of Pierre Marin,” he said with pride, as though he owned it too. He stuck his hand through the window and tapped some numbers on a keypad attached to a pole. The elaborate gate opened widely and the limousine slid in, its tires grinding the gravel. Beyond the wall a huge garden lay before them, ending at the edge of a steep cliff. A few houses dotted the green expanse, but their large size didn’t disturb the vast surroundings. Beyond them, a great distance away, another mountain rose high. Between the two mountains lay the lush valley through which they drove earlier. “Monsieur Marin likes the quiet,” said Jacques without being asked, “so when he bought this mountain he also bought the one across from it, so that no one could build there and the view he loves so much wouldn’t change.”
The limousine crossed lawns and orchards, where groups of gardeners and handymen were busy working. �
��They are part of a standing team of forty employees,” explained Jacques. “Besides gardeners, we also have a pool expert, the chief of our fleet of cars and motorcycles, handymen, a chef, waiters, chambermaids, and others.”
A small bridge crossed over a narrow stream that reached the end of the cliff and became a waterfall. Exotic trees grew out of the water. “It’s a type of mangrove,” Jacques explained. “Mr. Marin brought them from the Andes.” Beyond the stream, they reached a parking area next to a four-story house. Part of it was built from reddish-brown bricks, and the other from wood and glass surfaces that created completely translucent walls. A pool was visible beyond the glass screens of the ground floor, its blue water spreading a sense of calm and leisure.
Jacques got out of the limousine and quickly placed himself in front of Sally and Jerry’s door, which he opened. The house door opened as well. A blond boy of about five stood there watching them. Behind him stood a woman wearing a long skirt and white shirt, buttoned to the neck. Sally assumed she was the nanny. The boy looked at her with his big blue eyes, wet with tears. “Will you bring me back my mommy?” he asked.
21.
A tall and very handsome man stepped out of the house toward them. He was dressed in a totally different style than the tailored suit she saw him wearing in Islamabad. It was a Versace yellow sweater with leather cuffs, stylish Cavalli jeans, and an Armani silk scarf hanging lightly around his neck, which Sally estimated cost thousands of dollars. “I’ve seen lots of Hollywood films,” murmured Jerry in Hebrew, “but this is something else.”
“This is no film,” whispered Sally, “this is real life.”
The man approached them and stood next to the child, placing his hand on the child’s head but not caressing it. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Pierre,” he said and shook Sally’s hand, then Jerry’s. The child watched Sally silently, examining her every movement.
“Welcome, dear guests,” said Marin in a flowery tone that suited a castle owner from years past. “Before we sit down for lunch, let me take you to the guests’ quarters that will be entirely yours for the coming days.”
He walked to the garden and took a path that left from the parking area. Sally and Jerry followed him while Jacques tailed behind. The coming days? wondered Sally. How many days does he intend us to stay here? We have children to take care of, a house to run, Jerry has a demanding job. Why is this rich man, whom no one can reach, suddenly embracing us? She glanced at Jerry, who was busy surveying everything with a suspicious eye.
Marin walked them along a boulevard of classic and modern sculptures. Sally stopped next to one, which she found particularly beautiful. Marin stopped too. “That’s part of my collection,” he said without the slightest arrogance, as though he was talking about canned goods in the pantry. “There are more of these, in the gardens and inside the house.”
He turned to a building that stood at the edge of the path. It too was built in a style combining old and new, which Marin particularly liked, Sally realized. It was smaller than Marin’s house, but quite large in itself. On the front doorpost, a large, elaborate mezuzah shone, reducing Sally’s anxiety and sense of alienation. She stepped inside, into a world of luxury and comfort, stacked with collectors’ items and unique furniture that also characterized Marin’s aesthetic tastes combining old and new.
In the dining room, a long rosewood table greeted her, surrounded by elaborately decorated high-backed chairs. The living room was scattered with soft and inviting couches and chairs. A gigantic television screen was attached to one of the walls, across from a fully equipped bar. Sally moved to the kitchen, where the cabinets were filled with cakes, fruit, and chocolates bearing the symbols of Europe’s best chocolatiers. From the bedroom window, the mountain and the valley at its feet were clearly visible. The wide beds were covered with satin sheets and a door led to a large hot tub. The floors were covered with Persian carpets and the walls boasted paintings by Picasso and Chagall.
“I must leave you. I’ll see you again at lunch,” said Marin in a tone that was meant to sound apologetic but sounded like a sudden order. He walked away, as usual, without a word of parting.
Jacques shot them a smile that entirely resembled his master’s. A moment of tense silence lingered between them, which Jerry cut by saying, “I guess we’ll go rest for a bit.”
“Monsieur Marin would certainly want me to show you his garage. He’s very proud of it,” said Jacques, and opened a door that led into a space big enough to host a wedding. Impeccably polished cars stood parked in a row. A Porsche stood up front, next to a Rolls Royce Phantom Coupé, a Mercedes from the 1950s and a new Ferrari.
Behind, three well-equipped Jeeps stood parked, and finally two motorcycles with the words Kawasaki and Harley Davidson printed on their fuel tanks. At the side of the garage, a ski sled stood waiting for a ride through the surrounding slopes.
“You can take any car you’d like,” said Jacques. “Monsieur Marin would like you to feel at home.”
“Thank you,” said Jerry wryly. “I think we’ll have a rest.”
22.
A few minutes later, in their room, Sally asked, “What happened to you? He’s going out of his way to be nice to us and all you want to do is rest.”
“You’ve just said exactly what bothers me: He goes out of his way. Everything here is big, special, expensive, and he’s been bragging about it since we got here. Even after he leaves, he keeps sending his assistant or driver or whoever it is to show us the garage.”
“He didn’t utter one word of arrogance.”
“Don’t you get it? He’s leading us through his property with his expression of ‘this is nothing,’ as though it was all a pile of rubbish. That’s the real condescension. ‘I have so much and I don’t even care, because elsewhere I have more.’ The man lives to make an impression. Who have you gotten involved with?”
Sally tried to recall Marin’s expression when they toured the house. Her intuition, which she always counted on to lead her in the right direction, signaled that Marin was benevolent. “I don’t think you’re right,” she said. “He’s just a generous man who treats his wealth matter-of-factly and wants us to enjoy it too, as his guests.”
“He’s offering us his cars—”
“That’s a sign he trusts us.”
“Why?” asked Jerry. “What does he know about us except for the fact that you called to tell him you know where the necklace he gave his wife is, and that Ben David and Moyal are tricking him?”
“Jerry,” said Sally tiredly, “the world is made up of those who are untrusting and lose friends, and those who are trusting and gain friends. True, you sometimes discover you were wrong to trust someone, but you can live with that. I belong to the second kind, and so does Marin, it seems.”
“He’s a tough businessman, and these people aren’t generous for nothing.”
“Let’s assume he’s a tough businessman,” replied Sally. “Businessmen know where to invest. He’s investing in us.”
Jerry shrugged, removed two shirts from his suitcase, and hung them in the closet. “In any event, we’ll have to leave in two days.” He groaned. “I only have two shirts and two sets of underwear.”
Sally opened the window and breathed in the mountain air. “It’s wonderful here,” she said. “It would be too bad to leave so quickly.”
Jerry sulked in silence.
A light knock on the door disrupted them. Sally opened it. A thin, bony woman, dressed like the nanny in a long skirt and white blouse, curtsied to her. “My name is Natalia. I am the chief maid. Monsieur Marin invites you to dine with him.” She looked at Jerry, who was busy hanging his spare pair of trousers in the closet. “I’ll wait here until you finish,” she pointed at a chair standing in the corridor.
“We’ll be right out,” promised Sally.
A few moments later, Sally led them with measured steps toward the
big house. There, too, large mezuzahs adorned all the doorposts, which were numerous. Statues stood atop marble pedestals. A decorated elevator took them to the top floor, where in a room whose glass windows opened out to the view on three sides, Marin waited at the head of a table covered in a white tablecloth.
As soon as they sat down, a row of servants began serving them appetizers in golden plates, pouring various wines into crystal glasses, and placing trays of food down before them that they could obviously never finish. Sally almost asked what would be done with the leftovers. Would they be eaten by the servants? Did Marin donate them to some institution? Then her mind drifted to the blond boy. Where is he now? Why is he not eating with his father?
“Bon appétit,” said Marin.
“Mr. Marin—” Sally started.
“Please, call me Pierre.”
“Pierre, about the matter we came for—”
Marin hushed her with a polite gesture of his hand. “We’ll speak after the meal,” he said, concentrating on serving himself small portions of the abundance spread before him. Jerry also served himself, but Sally did not eat. A large chunk blocked her throat. She suddenly felt that Jerry was right; something about the organized, tidy world she was experiencing didn’t seem right.
23.
At the end of the meal, Marin—Sally still couldn’t call him Pierre, even not to herself—stood up and pointed to the living room. “Now we’ll talk,” he stated, and Sally recognized his pointed, tough demeanor underneath the polite veneer. She followed him, her hand holding Jerry’s. The moment they entered the living room, the lights switched on, thanks to some automatic mechanism, and they found themselves in a room the size of their apartment, covered with colorful carpets, classic furniture, and soft couches. Pierre pointed to one of them. “Please, sit,” he said, and sat across from them on a couch upholstered in leopard skin.
Married to the Mossad Page 8
