Married to the Mossad

by Hessel, Shalva

  “He was doing his job.”

  “Do you really think I need to tell him everything that happened to me over the past several months just because some puny car was burned?”

  “That’s the law, and I can’t continue my work as long as my wife is involved in a fight with a criminal organization.”

  “In a struggle against a criminal organization!”

  “No, Sally, it’s the state that struggles against criminal organizations. What you’re involved in is a fight. But let’s not get bogged down with semantics. I have a more important matter to discuss. Do you want to separate?”

  The question hit Sally like a ton of bricks.

  “We’re already living separately,” Jerry explained. “Your life hasn’t belonged to the children and me for a while. They’re Marin’s. Even your father works for him, and your mother will travel to him for Passover along with one of your brothers and his family. If it were not for your certainty that I wouldn’t agree, you’d propose that we celebrate there too.”

  She hugged him. He stood standing and didn’t respond.

  “I don’t want to separate,” Sally said. “I also don’t want to ruin anything. I want you to understand me, to indulge me, to finally let me live the life I always wanted.”

  “I can’t understand you,” Jerry said coldly, and gently removed her hand from his back.

  45.

  In the coming days, Sally continued to travel across the country for the Pierre Marin Foundation, and although she loved the job and was successful at it, she did not enjoy herself. The alienation from Jerry made everything painful. When she tried to discuss this with him, he didn’t change his position one iota: Only if she stopped dealing with Ben David and Marin would their relationship return to normal.

  Sally secretly missed Marin, but harshly repressed the memory of the night she’d spent with him. Jacob’s reports about Muriel continued: She dined at the fanciest restaurants in Gstaad, ordering the best dishes for her lover. She withdrew cash from her bank account and brought it to his hideaway, stopping on the way to buy him designer clothes he had no use for in the apartment he never left.

  Sally also had long conversations with her dad. He told her of the progress Joel had made preparing for his reading of the Torah, of his growing interest in the Jewish religion and its commandments, and of his newfound excellence in school. If he knew anything about Sally’s special relationship with Marin, he didn’t say a word. But consciously or unconsciously, he divulged the possible reason that Marin stopped mentioning their relationship in their conversations—a beautiful brunette, a model for Dior, who appeared at his mansion.

  The jealousy that revelation evoked in Sally was subdued by relief in realizing that life had solved the conflict created by the relationship with Marin. She gave her all in meetings with organization directors who received funding from the Marin Foundation, and in caring for her home. Michael, her younger son, got elaborate breakfasts and a new wardrobe. With Roy, she would speak briefly but lovingly on the phone, her heart going out to meet him. Twice he was supposed to come home for the weekend, but his leave was canceled due to operations or training. They both looked forward to the ten-day vacation he was finally meant to receive.

  Ahead of the vacation, Sally cleared her day of meetings and entered the kitchen to make a turkey roll, her son’s favorite dish. As she wrapped the filet around a roll of minced meat, her phone rang. “Pierre,” her screen informed her. Sally looked at her watch with wonder. It wasn’t the regular time for their conversations. She quickly rinsed her hands and slid a wet finger over the screen.

  “Sally,” Marin’s voice emerged from the speaker, “they’re unwilling to file the lawsuit. They say the court will throw us out unless we bring proof. They want the photos.”

  “There are no photos,” Sally said deliberately, in case anyone was listening in on their conversation. “There are none. I don’t know what made you think there were.”

  “Can you come?” he asked in a helpless tone. “Only you can get me out of this mess.”

  Sally looked at the semi-formed roll of meat. “I can’t, Pierre. Roy is coming home from the army tomorrow. I haven’t seen him since I returned to Israel.”

  “Bring him with you.”

  She laughed bitterly. “I can’t do that, Pierre. It’s the army. He can’t leave the country.”

  “Who must I talk to?” suddenly the powerful Pierre Marin awoke. “After all I’ve given, I think I deserve Israel to release one officer for a short trip abroad.”

  Something about Marin’s enthusiasm thrilled Sally. The idea of Roy flying with her to Switzerland, where he could see for himself how important the matter she was dealing with was, overtook her. “Don’t speak to anyone. I’ll deal with this.”

  “Excellent. Two first-class tickets for the eleven o’clock flight will await you at the airport. See you in Geneva.”

  Over the next two hours Sally spoke to some old friends, and the following morning, at four a.m., she was on her way to her son’s base. She waited in the car for him to come out, wearing his work uniform and high army boots. A suitcase with his passport and ironed civilian clothes rested on the backseat. “Mom, I’m dirty after my training.”

  “Change your clothes, and when we arrive you’ll change again.”

  “Arrive where?”

  “In Geneva,” Sally said lightheartedly. “Switzerland, you know.”

  “You can’t be serious. I’m not allowed to leave the country.”

  “I got permission,” she said, waving the document.

  A glimmer lit in Roy’s eye. “Really?”

  “Really and truly.”

  “What a great mom you are.”

  He quickly changed his clothes as they started to drive away, and as soon as he put his head on the headrest, he fell asleep for the remainder of the ride to the airport. There, he followed her silent and obedient, as he did when he was a child. When they sat in the airplane and Sally started telling him about the purpose of their trip, he fell asleep once again, awaking only when the Alps and Lake Geneva appeared outside the window.

  The limousine was parked on the tarmac with Fred, Marin’s new driver dressed in a gray uniform, standing beside it. Roy whistled with appreciation. “A Bentley, no less,” he said, as Fred opened the door for him. “Mom, is it always like this?”

  Only then did Sally realize how used she had become to these conditions. “Yes,” she said, “but there’s nothing special about it.”

  “Nothing special at all,” Roy repeated ironically. “None of the other passengers have a luxury car waiting for them on the runway.”

  “None of the other passengers are a soldier whose mother abducted him from his base,” said Sally, tapping him on the back.

  Roy laughed, his sight fixed on the scenery outside. Sally’s phone indicated a text message. “I have to meet you,” Jacob wrote.

  “I’ll meet you in half an hour at the lobby of the Four Seasons,” Sally replied.

  “How green,” Roy declared. “What will I do while you’re at your meetings?”

  “You’ll sit next to me. I want you to understand exactly what I’m doing and why it’s so important.”

  Roy shrugged. “As long as this was a trip that was fine, but I’m not sure I want to be part of your work. That puts me in conflict with Dad.”

  “You won’t be part of my work but part of my life, just like the times Dad told you about himself.”

  “He never did.”

  “So it’s certainly good that one of your parents opens up to you, isn’t it?” Sally asked, and without waiting for his response started explaining the background to her meeting with Jacob and her dilemma of exposing the evidence to the lawyers. When they entered their hotel rooms, he was already up to date about everything. “You have two hours to shower and rest up,” Sally added. “Then t
hey’ll come and take us to the lawyers’ offices.”

  While Roy was in his room, Sally went down to the lobby, where Jacob was waiting for her. “Is there anyone else working for you here?” he asked directly.

  “No.” Sally was taken aback. “Since I sacked the Swiss company, only you’re in the picture.”

  “All right, well, Muriel has a shadow. Someone extremely professional who follows her and looks out for her ass.”

  “It’s probably the organization handling Ben David. As far as it’s concerned, she’s the hen that will lay the golden egg they’ve been waiting for all this time. What exactly happened?”

  He looked around with suspicion. “Yesterday we followed her like every day. She took her regular Gstaad route: Restaurants, delicatessens, etc. Our guy followed her two cars back, as we do, and then a small Peugeot came in between them and started slowing down traffic. Muriel stepped on the accelerator and disappeared. As soon as she vanished, the Peugeot returned to normal speed.”

  “Do you have a license plate?”

  “It’s a Geneva car rental company. We even found the rental form. The driver’s name is Margarite Delacroix.”

  “And Muriel?”

  “Disappeared. Our people rushed to her home, but she wasn’t there. She didn’t come home at night either. She only returned to Gstaad the following evening. We found her at a petrol station, filling her tank. She seemed very tired, like after a sleepless night.” He looked around once more. “She went with some purpose, that’s clear. The only question is who with, and why.”

  Sally pondered. “And Ben David?”

  “He was in the apartment the entire time. The water was running; the electricity was on. No one came in or out. The children were with Marin as usual.”

  Sally sighed. “All right, we’ll deal with this later. Now I have a more complicated matter to solve.”

  46.

  The ancient structure exuded power and distinction. Sally told the uniformed guard in the foyer what office she was invited to. He pointed to a row of gray chairs. “They’re on the sixth floor. Please wait here for the woman to escort you.”

  Sally observed the oil portraits on the wall. They were all of self-satisfied men, probably lawyers or bankers. “There’s no woman,” she mumbled.

  “Who are all these people?” Roy asked, looking at the paintings.

  “I don’t know, but get used to it. These are the people you’ll meet inside.”

  The minutes went by and no one arrived. Sally looked at the guard, puzzled, but his face remained emotionless. She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes had gone by. “I think it’s too much.” She stood up and pressed the elevator button. The guard rushed over, protesting loudly in French. Roy stood in his way and the guard stopped in his tracks. His tone became less authoritarian. The elevator door opened. “Bonjour,” said Roy and followed his mother into the elevator.

  “Au revoir is French for goodbye,” Sally said. “Or adieu.”

  Roy smiled. Sally pressed the button and the elevator leaped upward. “I feel so good with you here,” she said, and Roy hugged her.

  They exited the elevator into a wood-paneled foyer. The receptionist was probably warned by the guard, and didn’t protest as Sally marched straight into a meeting room the size of a tennis court; its door wide open. The room’s walls were also covered with portraits of well-dressed, important looking men. Four men who looked like clones of the men in the portraits sat at the large table. Sally recognized Darmond among them. Marin sat at the head of the table next to a heavyset man who scolded Sally. “Madame Amir, we’re still in the middle of our previous discussion and it really has nothing to do with the matter in which you’re—how should I put it?—involved. We can’t begin our conversation with you before we finish. That’s our custom and that’s also why they didn’t summon you from downstairs.”

  “And my custom is to start meetings exactly at the time scheduled, or at most a few minutes late, with an apology.”

  The man recoiled in his seat. “And who is the gentleman next to you?”

  “My son,” Sally said, staring at Marin, who nodded his approval. All the others looked curiously at her and Roy. “Shall we begin?” Sally asked.

  The man at the head of the table didn’t respond, nor did the others. An uncomfortable silence spread across the room. Roy tapped on the table with his fingernails. Marin suddenly said, “The problem, Madame Amir, is that these men believe there is no possibility to file for divorce using the evidence you’ve produced.” He hesitated for a moment. “They need photos.”

  “There are no photos,” said Sally, wondering whether Marin was in such distress that he didn’t understand what she had told him on the phone, or didn’t remember it. “Even if they existed, I wouldn’t give them to you. Covert recordings and photography are illegal in this country. Whoever would do that for you would get in trouble, and you’d get much unwanted negative publicity.”

  “In any event, without solid evidence there’s no suit,” said Darmond. “If you want to separate Madame Marin from that man, you’ll have to provide better evidence.”

  “Or maybe I should find better lawyers, lawyers with enough gumption to find the appropriate articles in the law rather than expect to receive the case readymade.”

  Marin swallowed hard. “Sall…Madame Amir, Attorney Darmond has been my friend for twenty-five years, and I know his partners very well, too.”

  “In other words, this beautiful room, the plush office, and perhaps even the entire building, are all a product of your money.”

  One of the men burst out, “Madame, I don’t know who you are, but even if Monsieur Marin is prepared to listen to you for whatever reason—I won’t have it. I ask that you leave immediately.”

  “Why, because you won’t admit that had you worked a bit harder and been more original and creative you could have found a way to file the suit long ago?”

  “Monsieur Marin,” said the man. “You pay us for our time. You decide how we proceed.”

  Marin hesitated, and Sally responded combatively. “You are paying, but have you received the return you deserve? I think they’re more interested in your money than in your success.”

  The lawyers squirmed in their fancy suits. One of them whispered to his neighbor, “She’s against us because we’re not Jewish.” Sally heard the comment and shot back, “I don’t divide people into Jews and non-Jews but into honest and dishonest. I’ll leave it to you to decide where I place lawyers who charge by the hour and don’t do their work. We have everything we need to win the suit—depositions, testimonies, documents.”

  To her surprise, Marin said, “Madame Amir, the laws here are different than in Israel, and they know them. If they say the evidence we have won’t do, they probably won’t—”

  Roy placed his hand on his mouth and mumbled to Sally, “He’s trying to save their honor. Let him.”

  Sally signaled to Marin with her eyes toward the door. He stood up. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Roy in Hebrew. “Guard the fort.”

  Marin walked her to the next room and pointed to a sitting area. Sally remained standing. “How much did you pay them this year?” she challenged him.

  “A lot of money. They’re worth it. They care about me. They’ve been my friends for thirty years.”

  “Where are your brains?” she demanded. “You’re Jewish, aren’t you? So be a bit wiser. Do you really believe that twenty-year-old supermodels have fun with you because you’re good-looking, and that these lawyers are your friends? Wake up! They all have one goal: They want your money, just like Ben David. The men in the meeting room didn’t do their jobs. I take risks for you, my men take risks for you, and you let this group of pretentious men tell me that all our findings, all our surveillance reports, all the witnesses who signed depositions for us concerning the relationship between Ben David and Muriel—all th
is is worthless?”

  “They claim it’s not enough. Why do you think you know better than them?”

  “I don’t know better, I care more. I want you to be freed from Muriel and Ben David.” She collapsed on the seat. “Do you know what? OK. I’m willing to give you the photos and sign an affidavit confirming I took them so that you don’t get in trouble. An hour later I’ll be out of Switzerland, and out of Europe entirely.”

  “You’re giving up on the possibility of ever returning to Europe only so I can use the photos?”

  “Yes, and I’m completely fine with that. So decide. If you leave the matter to them, I’ll give them the photos and take off. If you trust me, let me refer this case to someone who will really handle it for you honestly and professionally.”

  “Let me check with them, maybe they—”

  Sally couldn’t stand it. “I won’t work with them. I don’t trust them. We either look for different lawyers who will find a solution, or I leave and let them take care of you.”

  Marin considered the matter and finally said, “Don’t bail on me. Let’s go back and see what can be done.”

  At the entrance to the conference room, Roy gave Sally a handwritten note. “Mom, I’m proud of you. You rock. They were shaking here while you were in the other room. Now calm down and be softer with them.” The expression of the man at the head of the table was indeed more pleasant. He smiled at Sally. “We’ve discussed this. It will be hard to operate without conclusive evidence, but I’m sure we can find a solution. Starting tomorrow morning, our entire office will work to review court rulings and interpretations of the law.”

  Marin looked at her with relief, but Sally wasn’t planning to relent. “How many hours will you give this and what is your hourly price?”

  The leader fell silent. Sally waited. He leaned toward his colleagues and exchanged a few whispered words. Finally, he sat up and said, “Given the longstanding relationship between us and Monsieur Marin, and given the—how should I put this?—personal and sad aspect of the case, we’ll give this service free of charge.”