Married to the Mossad
Page 9
In front of them, on a low mahogany table with golden feet, large art albums lay next to a pile of books about sailing. “These are my two loves,” Marin said, and grew silent. Sally waited for him to add “besides my children” or “in addition to Muriel,” but he remained silent and just stared at her with concentration.
“Shall we get to the point?” she asked directly.
To her surprise, Marin said, “One moment more. Someone else will join us.” Almost immediately a tall and slender man entered the room, his hair strikingly white. The man’s face was pleasant and thin, wrinkles around his eyes, making his demeanor seem nice. “I’d like to introduce you to Robert Darmond, my lawyer and a childhood friend,” said Marin. “He’s up to date on all matters. Now, Madame Sally, tell us what you know.”
The living room suddenly felt like a movie set, as Jerry described it earlier; the authoritativeness with which Marin spoke, coupled with his immense richness, augmented that feeling. Sally looked at Jerry. He seemed indifferent, for a moment even bored, but she knew exactly what he was thinking and what he would say to her had they been alone: “This is your project, dear, and you must find a way to manage it.”
“All right,” began Sally. “I told you that—”
“Let’s start with the necklace,” he interrupted her bluntly. “My wife said she lost it, and you told my secretary you know who found it.”
For a moment, Sally felt embarrassed. “I’ve already told your secretary that Ben David received it.”
“Excuse me,” Darmond entered the conversation. “Received it from whom?”
“From Marin’s wife Muriel. She lives not far from him, in Beersheba too,” Sally said, feeling Jerry’s displeasure next to her. Why does he not interfering if he thinks I’m wrong in my behavior?
“And what is she doing there, in—”
“Beersheba. Israel. She’s studying Torah, growing closer to Judaism. There’s a rabbi’s wife who comes to teach her and brings her food. Ben David controls the process. Muriel adores him and that’s probably why she gave him the necklace.”
Darmond smirked again. “We have different information.”
“It’s wrong,” asserted Sally with confidence that brought a look of surprise to Marin’s face. “I have recordings of Ben David and Vivian Moyal saying that—”
“There are recordings?” Darmond interrupted her.
“Yes.”
“Here, with you?”
“I have a Hebrew transcript in my room.”
“And in Israel it’s legal to tap into phones?”
“No,” admitted Sally. “Not without a police warrant.”
“In other words, you’re implicating my client in a crime. You understand that according to Swiss law he must report this immediately, and if the recordings or the transcripts are here with you, you must hand them over to the police as evidence.”
A wave of anger flooded Sally. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here. I came to help you and—”
Darmond was ready to answer, but Marin stopped him with a wave of his hand. This time his voice was softer. “You understand, Madame Sally, we are trying to understand why you took such a risk upon yourself, coming here with a story that can incriminate you and—” he turned his head to Jerry “—your husband.”
“I didn’t think of the risks,” said Sally frankly. “All I wanted was to let you know you’re in the hands of a corrupt man.”
“What’s your motive?” asked Darmond.
“I’ve already explained to Mr. Marin.”
“Pierre, please,” pleaded Marin.
“Then call me Sally, no Madame.”
For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, a smile appeared on his face, and immediately vanished. “Why have you come all the way here, Sally? On the phone, you told me that my fund helped you starting out, and that you’re furious about a Jew tricking a Jew. Monsieur Darmond here doesn’t believe there are people motivated by such things.”
“Do you believe that?”
Marin hesitated for a moment. “My heart tends to believe, but my brain and my experience, you know—” He nodded his head. “In order to remove this obstacle between us, allow me to ask you most directly: Do you want money?”
“No,” said Sally, and immediately remembered Jacob and Diana and her debt to them. “Nothing beyond the expenses I incur.”
“Have you paid for the phone tapping?”
“I’ve done part of it myself, part with a friend, and the last bit was done by a private investigator, who’s a friend from my previous job.”
“And what exactly is this previous job?” Darmond asked dismissively.
“The Mossad,” Jerry said, without batting an eye.
Sally could have jumped on him with a hug. This man, for whom secrecy was sacrosanct, who wouldn’t even admit to his parents or her family that he wasn’t simply a clerk in a government office, now came to her rescue.
The information made Darmond edgy. “Now I don’t understand this at all,” he spread his hands to the side. “You’re a professional and understand the risks, and have nevertheless decided to help Monsieur Marin, a man whom you’ve never met, claiming you’re doing this for emotional reasons. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sometimes emotion is the true logic.”
Pierre’s face radiated. “You are probably a very special person, Madame Sally—I mean Sally,” he said warmly. Darmond, for his part, wouldn’t let go. “What else do you have to tell us?”
“I met Muriel.”
Both men grew alert. “Where?”
“In Beersheba, not far from the rabbi’s house.”
“Impossible,” said Darmond. “She’s in a secret place, at a holiday home Monsieur Marin rented.”
“In Portugal,” Pierre disclosed.
“What city in Portugal?” Jerry inquired.
“I promised not to inquire. I send a sum of money to a bank account in Cyprus every month, partly to cover the rent and partly to cover her living expenses.”
“Does she live there alone?”
“Maybe with one or two maids.” He shrugged. “I know this because Monsieur Darmond—” his voice suddenly filled with a note of appreciation “—succeeded in tracking her down, employing an investigations firm to permanently observe the house.”
Sally pulled out her mobile phone, flipped to one of the photos Diana took, and placed the phone silently on the table. Marin looked at it first and swallowed hard. His expression grew severe. He passed the phone to Darmond, who peeked at it and said, “It could be her, or not. My people tell me that—”
Marin’s anger erupted like a brushfire. “Your people are supposed to guard her and report to me on her every movement.” He patted the phone. “There are photos here, and the lady also has transcripts of phone conversations.”
“We are employing the best investigations company in Europe,” Darmond defended himself.
“One of the things I learned in life is that reputation comes and goes. It’s hard to argue with the facts. The lady has photos. Do your investigators have photos that disprove them?”
Darmond didn’t answer. He leaned over to the phone and examined the image once more. “It could be Photoshopped. A very professional editing job. Why is there a dog here?”
“It belongs to my friend and came with us.” An idea occurred to Sally. “Had the image been edited, do you think a dog would be added?” She brushed her finger over the screen. Another image appeared and another. “That’s her,” ruled Marin, his face focused on Muriel standing at the gate of the house on Tamar Street. “I know that expression on her face.” He glared at Darmond and massaged his temples. “Leave me alone,” he ordered. “All of you. I need to think.”
Sally and Jerry stood up.
“I suggest we all meet here in an hour.”
The dinner table was again cleared of dishes, and Sally wondered what was done with the leftovers. Natalia emerged out of nowhere and announced, “You haven’t drunk your digestif yet. Would you like me to serve you on the porch?”
Sally looked at Jerry inquisitively. In Hibbat Zion, the moshav she grew up in, they only drank Kiddush wine. “Those are liquors that help your digestion,” he explained. “You’ll like them.”
They followed Natalia to a glassed-in porch. Beyond the windows, a stunning view could be seen. Gigantic spotlights illuminated the mountain across the valley, exposing its green slopes and pristine snow cap. “Sweet, sour or bitter?” asked Natalia.
“Sweet for the lady and bitter for me,” replied Jerry.
Sally hugged his arm. “Thanks for coming with me,” she said. “There are moments when you’re indispensable.”
He smiled shyly back at her, and they both silently watched a flock of white rabbits skipping lightly from cliff to cliff.
Natalia returned carrying a tray with four bottles and two glasses. Jerry poured. “Underberg, 44 proof,” he said as he served her the glass. He looked around and drew close to her. “Let’s speak quietly, far from the window. The glass projects sound waves.”
They moved to the corner of the porch. They sank into an inviting couch resting beneath a stone cornice. “I don’t like this Darmond,” he whispered into her ear. “He’s doing all he can to present you as a fraud. I can’t tell if he’s trying to protect Marin or just lying.”
“Jacob discovered that he stayed in a hotel in Geneva at the same as Vivian. I think it’s no coincidence. He’s on their side.”
Jerry shook his head doubtfully. “What reason does he have to prefer an imposter rabbi and a crook to a serious man like Marin who provides him with a living and a secure life?”
“Maybe someone is offering him more? A competitor of Marin’s, let’s say, or an enemy? In any case, I’m not worried. It’s like poker: Any player can bluff, but the person with the really good hand has nothing to worry about.”
Natalia appeared at the edge of the porch. She greeted them with a curtsey. “Monsieur Marin would be happy for you to join him in the living room.”
“Already? He asked for an hour,” commented Sally with her typical directness.
Natalia smiled and said nothing. She placed the bottles and glasses back on the tray and started walking back to the living room. Sally and Jerry followed her. Pierre sat alone on the leopard couch. Darmond was nowhere to be seen. Natalia placed the tray on the coffee table. Sally and Jerry sat down on the couch across from him, with only a thick file separating them.
“Let me begin with a personal confession,” Marin said. “I don’t trust people. Any person is prone to treason, and since I have money, treason is usually at my expense.”
Sally prepared to say something, but he lifted his hand to silence her. “Only in rare cases do I feel secure with people. It’s a combination of good energy I pick up, and some information.” He opened the file and Sally saw her headshot at the top of a document. Marin noticed her surprise. “I assume you realized I would check everything possible about you and Mr. Amir?”
“This is exactly what worried me,” mumbled Jerry.
“I can assure you that nothing of your work was leaked to us. I can also say I was very impressed with what I read about you. If I understand correctly, you lived in Pakistan during the time I was also there for a short visit.”
“We saw you at General al-Sharif’s ball,” Sally said. “I almost came over to say how grateful I am to you.”
“Considering the circumstances, that wouldn’t have been wise.”
“Right. Jerry cooled my enthusiasm. Sometimes I’m too spontaneous.”
“And that spontaneity is what makes me trust you. Now, in order for you to understand how much I trust you, and in preparation of the cooperation I’m about to offer you, I’d like to expose the history of my relations with Ben David. The entire story. Each of my people dealing with it knows one bit of it. I’m telling you all of it.”
“I really appreciate that,” said Sally.
Marin sipped from his glass. “Well, it all began with Muriel. I met her when Vogue held a photoshoot on my yacht. I fell in love with her immediately, and she also didn’t remain indifferent to me. We started dating and I discovered a wonderful woman, beautiful, both inside and out, in need of love and security—both of which I could provide her with. Six months later she began studying Judaism and the chief rabbi of Zurich conducted the conversion ceremony. I separated from my first wife, the mother of my two older boys, and married Muriel in the Great Synagogue of Zurich.” His eyes went moist, perhaps with compassion for the first wife he abandoned or in memory of his second marriage. “She was a wonderful wife, always taking good care of me and the children, managing the house when I was traveling. She was full of love for me, even admiring.”
Sally nodded. She could certainly understand how this man could be admired, so handsome and powerful.
“Then things started to go wrong. I don’t know the reason, but she became depressed, started drinking, and became aggressive and bitter. We turned to the doctors, of course. They prescribed medication that had no effect on her condition. Then we tried psychologists. At first only female ones: I wasn’t comfortable with my wife sitting in a closed room alone with a strange man. But when nothing helped and I was told that an authoritative male character would do better for her, I agreed to that too.” He sighed. “But even the best psychologists couldn’t rescue her from the deep depression she experienced. And then I met Vivian Moyal. Her husband was my partner in a few businesses, and after they separated she tried to make, well, intimate contact with me. She knew about Muriel’s problems, of course. You couldn’t not know. Anyone who knew us spoke about her outbursts; her wanderings around ski and holiday resorts—drunk or drugged. Anyway, when she realized there was no other way to get close to me, she told me she was in touch with a rabbi and Kabbalist who works miracles—Ben David from Beersheba. I am a believer and know that miracles happen, but very rarely. With a heavy heart, I invited this man to me, to Geneva. I can’t call him a rabbi any longer. I began the meeting feeling I was about to meet a swindler, and ended it certain I had encountered a real saint. It wasn’t just the way he spoke, which entered my heart like a pleasant melody, but also the information he knew about me, my illnesses, my children, the children from my first marriage, my father, my mother. Everything, he said, was written in the sky and clear to him. Years later I realized that he and Vivian simply invested time in a huge investigation about me.”
“Such an investigation costs a lot of money,” Jerry said.
“They had money. They cheated numerous people before reaching me, and I was a good investment. I was exactly the person they were looking for: A rich man with family problems that only a saint could solve,” he chuckled. “I actually believed he was a saint. I opened my heart as well as my wallet to him. I told him about my wife’s condition and described the problems of our son Joel, who was thrown out of school after school and also suffered from depressive spells. Ben David consoled and encouraged me. He said with confidence that the problems were indeed very grave, but he could solve them. He added that Muriel and Joel needed urgent treatment, or else their situation would deteriorate beyond repair. Muriel would commit suicide and Joel would become a criminal.
“I could not afford the risk. I agreed to any treatment he could offer. Ben David was willing to help, but explained that in order to make time for my family members he had to postpone previous treatments he had committed to, and reimburse people’s down payments. I immediately offered him a sum that seemed respectable to me—one hundred thousand dollars—but he reacted with disdain, even p
ermitting himself to say that I was disrespecting him by offering such a small amount in return for the time he was investing and the fact he was waiving other commitments around the world. In the same breath, he explained that the money was going to charity and being donated to the needy: To orphanages and yeshivas in Beersheba.” He examined their faces and for a moment seemed much less authoritative and self-confident. “I realize that today, seeing me sitting here surrounded by all this wealth, you find it difficult to understand how worried I was. But at the time, everything I had was in danger and Ben David seemed like the only solution. I signed a check for halfa a million dollars and he finally agreed to begin treatment.”
The large room fell silent. Sally felt extremely sorry for Marin. She glanced at Jerry, but his expression remained cold.
“Can I offer you something stronger than this?” Marin pointed at the liquor bottle. “Maybe we’ll switch to cognac?”
Sally shook her head and Jerry nodded. Marin pushed a button and Natalia appeared. “Yes, Monsieur Pierre,” she said.
“Cognac,” Marin ordered, “the best bottle.” He waited for her to leave the room, then continued. “For an entire month, he lived in my guesthouse, where you are staying now, having conversations with Muriel and the kids, reciting incantations in the name of saints and writing amulets. At that time, I was diagnosed with a liver inflammation and Ben David reassured me. You wouldn’t believe it, but the infection subsided. It didn’t pass, but stopped bothering me. Even my doctor said he had no idea how that happened. Then Muriel began improving significantly. She stopped crying at nights, stopped drinking herself drunk. She confirmed him to be a great saint and righteous man, with amazing healing powers. Joel too finally managed to remain in the same school for almost a year. Laughter returned to my home and I was really happy. When Ben David asked Muriel for one hundred thousand dollars as a donation to an orphanage in the holy city of Safed, I gave her two hundred thousand to pass on to him.”
Natalia returned with a decorated bottle and three glasses. “A special Remy Martin,” said Marin and poured a glass for Sally, who waved it away with her hand. Marin handed it to Jerry.