“I’d like to speak to him.” Sally demanded. “Right now.”
The officer smiled patiently. “I’ll convey your request. Can you leave us a phone number?”
Sally dictated her Swiss phone number to the officer. When he finished writing, he suddenly said, “Why do you think the disguised woman, as you called her, will arrive at this branch in particular? Today you can withdraw money from anywhere in the world.”
“It’s a small private bank with one branch, which is why Mr. Marin chose it, to ensure that only Mrs. Marin can withdraw the funds.”
The officer nodded. “Noted,” he said. “If you find out anything else, please let us know.”
“Of course,” Sally promised, frustrated, and left the station.
59.
The foyer of the bank was small and empty. Two clerks were busy typing behind their desks, and as Sally entered they lifted their eyes and looked at her. She didn’t approach either of them, but confidently sat on a narrow couch against the wall. A man in a fancy suit exited a squeaky elevator. He too looked at her, but didn’t say a word. After half an hour of being politely ignored, one of the clerks stood up and approached her. “Madame, are you waiting for someone?”
“My friend from Canada is supposed to come here. We agreed to meet at ten, but I was informed that her flight has been slightly delayed.”
The clerk nodded understandingly and returned to his seat. Another hour went by, and Sally became a fixture of the antiquated hall, like the couch she was sitting on, the two desks, the old computers, and the squeaky elevator, which every now and again would eject bankers and businessmen who looked like they had been formed in the same mold. By noon, hunger was beginning to bother Sally. The clerk she spoke to earlier also began moving uncomfortably. “We’re about to close,” he told her. “We’ll be back in an hour. There’s a pleasant restaurant down the street. You can wait there and return at one, when we reopen.”
Sally never returned. On her way to the restaurant, she discovered a fast food stand overlooking the bank. Next to it, a few benches were hidden from the street by a row of blooming trees. She bought herself a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee and sat under a chinaberry tree. The weather was pleasant, and even when the bank doors opened, her outlook seemed more agreeable than the dull waiting room.
As time went by, doubts grew in her. The thought that she could trap Ben David and the woman he recruited to withdraw the money all by herself suddenly seemed silly and arrogant. On the other hand, what other options did she have? If she were to use Jacob, it would take hours for him to get organized and place investigators in and around the bank, and Swiss investigators had let her down before. But nevertheless, shouldn’t she consult bankers, lawyers, or accountants to check that there was no other way for Ben David to withdraw the money while she was waiting here?
She finished the sandwich and her coffee cup was empty. Next to her, on the bench, people came and went. An elderly man with a brown puppy tried to start conversation with her, two teenagers waited for a woman to pick them up in a small car, a mailman who greeted her with “good day” stretched his legs forward and closed his eyes for a short rest. The apprehension tightened her limbs and sped up her heart rate. To relax, she practiced an exercise she once learned at a guided meditation course, conjuring up the image she expected: Ben David, strolling down the sidewalk with a tall blonde woman, walking like a model. She got up, bought another cup of coffee without removing her eyes from the street, and sat to drink it on another bench, more hidden.
A few moments later, she was grateful for that. A tall woman with blond hair and a slender physique opened the door and entered the bank. She didn’t walk like a model, but was familiar to Sally. Very familiar. Sally leaped up and crossed the street running, swerving between the passing cars. When she entered the bank, the woman was already seated across from the bank clerk Sally had spoken to two hours earlier. He lifted his eyes, followed Sally as she made the short distance to his desk, and said nothing when she approached the woman, placed a hand on her shoulder, and said, “Diana, don’t get involved in this.”
60.
Jerry offered his arm to Sally, which she leaned on. The Shabbat elevator was taking its time to arrive. This time Jerry didn’t complain about that, nor did he rush to the nearby elevator and take it alone, as he had done in the past. Sally gave him a look of gratitude and he replied with a smile. The reconciliation was good for them, and during the weeks that had passed since Diana was caught in the bank in Geneva, the events of the past year seemed foreign to them, almost unimaginable.
The street was awash with bright June sun. Sally and Jerry walked through a new pedestrian shopping mall and entered the ancient walls of the Old City. The winding street that led them to the Western Wall was packed with people. Most of them were guests of the bar mitzvah celebration of Joel Marin, the son of famous Pierre Marin, who had become even more famous thanks to the recent events. As they approached the Wall, Sally identified her son Roy, standing out in his ironed officer’s uniform among the masses in white shirts and suits. Next to him stood his younger brother Michael, and Rubi, Marin’s younger son, who looked at Roy with eyes filled with admiration. Joel, the bar mitzvah boy, stood slouched next to her father, looking sad and restless.
Sally smiled at him to cheer him up, but had no illusions. There was nothing that could comfort him on the absence of his mother on his big day. She was also deeply sorry for Muriel, the weakest link of the Marin saga. She remembered her burial ceremony in Geneva’s Jewish cemetery, and Marin’s tall figure giving a eulogy that ended with the words, “We can only take comfort in the fact that she died while doing what she loved most: Riding a horse, which was a real friend, without conditions…”
The following day, he left the children with a nanny and returned to his business. Only after Muriel’s death did Sally grasp the depths of pain in which Muriel lived, and the mistake she made in searching for love with the wrong man. Slowly, gradually, she realized that she herself had almost deteriorated to the same point. As usual, she spoke about it with her father, who asked, “What are you looking for in life, Sallinka?”
“Like everyone else,” she replied, “happiness.”
Her father thought for a bit and said, “The problem in searching for happiness is that most people get it wrong and believe that in order to be happy they must change the reality they live in.”
“Why is that a mistake?” Sally argued. “That’s the way—”
“There’s another way,” he insisted. “Instead of searching for love by changing reality, you can obtain it by changing your demands from reality, or in other words, settling for little and gaining happiness from what you have. And you have a lot, Sallinka.”
After a night of thinking, Sally drafted a resignation letter from the Marin Foundation, sent a long e-mail to Marin—who was again in Africa—and called Jerry. “I resigned,” she said. “I’m coming back to Israel to look for work.”
“Come home,” he said curtly.
A day later, when she entered her Tel Aviv apartment, she found a different Jerry; more attentive, open and inclusive, who took an interest in her life and accompanied her in the negotiation process with the various companies she applied to. She was offered nice salaries and titles, but all the jobs were commercial and none made her feel she could contribute something to others.
The Western Wall plaza filled up. People flocked to it from the narrow alleyways. Many looked at Sally curiously and some nodded at her, even though they never met her. Jerry moved uncomfortably. “You have no choice,” Sally told him. “The whole country saw me on TV, and in Israel, everyone is my friend now.”
“You don’t work for Marin anymore. Why didn’t you tell them that the footage of Ben David being arrested was enough? Why did you give an interview?”
“Because I’m still committed to the matter. Pierre won’t interview, Muriel is
dead, and Diana received immunity again for incriminating Ben David and was told to shut up. Someone has to tell the world what happened here, don’t they? We need positive public opinion.”
“Why? Isn’t the evidence enough?”
“In some matters, it’s our word versus his. Muriel’s assistants were arrested and gave an opposite narrative than Ben David. They say he was the one who tied Muriel’s foot to the stirrup.”
“Maybe he feared she’d fall?”
“In such cases, it’s acceptable to tie both feet and the body with a special strap. That’s how they tie disabled people on therapeutic rides. When the assistants asked him why he tied just one foot, he said that’s how Muriel wanted it. They said she was too drunk to contradict him. Clearly, Ben David’s true intention was to cause Muriel to fall and be dragged by the horse, and that point must be proven in court beyond doubt. Jacob is cooperating with Canadian police, and every day new evidence emerges.”
“And that means you’ll give another interview?”
Sally laughed. “I guess so.”
“I don’t think so,” Jerry said.
Sally grew nervous. “Will you forbid me?”
“Not me, your new workplace.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I was waiting for the right moment to give this to you. Everything you did in recent months really impressed our people, and Aaron also used all of his influence…”
Sally opened the envelope and opened a page with the Mossad emblem on it.
“You realize you won’t take part in any operation. They want you mainly for research and strategic planning.”
Sally’s heart overflowed with joy. “I don’t care, as long as I can contribute.”
“No.” Jerry laughed. “As long as you’re finally forced to keep a low profile and—” he patted her hair “—stay in Israel.”
Married to the Mossad Page 26
