“We checked the name Friedlich in our data bases. We found there were Friedlichs in Israel who changed their name to Simhoni and that’s how we got to you. But resemblance isn’t enough. As we didn’t know if you would be suitable, we also sought out other men who matched the photo but in the end we chose you.”
I shifted to Hebrew, with a tilt of my head to Leo and Diane: “Do they know what we are talking about?”
“They know we used Ron’s passport for the benefit of Israel,” he replied tersely. In his earlier talk with them he had apparently referred to this.
Udi took up the narrative again. “Nobody made the connection between the man picked up on Route 12 and the passport that reached us a few weeks later. It would have been almost impossible to make such a connection. Every night, dozens of people cross the border from Sinai without documents. Sudanese and Nigerians, Russians, Ukrainians and Lithuanians. Everybody wants to get to the Land of Milk and Honey.”
“So how was the connection made?” I asked.
“Niki made it,” said Udi. “Do you want to tell us how, Niki?”
For a moment I was frightened that Niki would say she had taken up with Ron because he looked like me – something that would bother his parents – or still worse, that she had resumed her relationship with me when I came to the university to get Ron’s paperwork. It made me uncomfortable to be presented as having done that.
“I’d prefer you to do it, Udi,” she said.
“OK. Niki knew that Mickey was using Ron’s passport and, after joining the Mossad, she told us that she had known Ron. That was about a year ago,” he said.
“But how did you tie that in with Ron himself, in the hospital,” I wanted to know.
“I’ll explain,” said Niki, taking her hand out of mine and speaking to me without looking at me.
“When you asked for Ron’s documents at Trinity College, and you came back into my life, I realized something wasn’t kosher.” Her use of the word “kosher” raised a smile with everyone except me. I was tense and jumpy. What other surprises were in store for me here?
“As I’ve already told you, I suspected that it had something to do with the things that Israel does with foreign passports, and because I knew that Ronnie was Jewish and loved Israel, I thought that perhaps it was being done at his initiative. I didn’t want to ask too many questions.
“But then, later on, you told me Ron had died in Sinai and you wanted to tell his parents. I thought that was the right thing to do, and I even offered to do it myself because, after all, I know you,” she said, glancing at Leo and Diane, who looked stunned. “And I also wanted to save them the shock of meeting you,” she turned back to me, “you who are so like Ronnie. But then I thought about it again. I already knew who you were working for and I knew something about all the trickery and deception, and I thought – what if they’d misled you? What if they’d stolen or found Ronnie’s passport and told you he was dead so that you would act confidently and wouldn’t think that the real Ron Friedlich was wandering somewhere in the world?”
Niki’s lateral or even manipulative thinking was far more developed than mine, I had to admit. I hadn’t thought for a second that Udi was misleading me. Once again, I felt a wave of warmth and love for her spreading through me. Now I was gripping her hand and she sent me a quick smile of thanks, which also had a pinch of embarrassment at giving this sign of affection in full view of Leo and Diane. “I stalled for time and then Udi arrived and talked you out of it. Leo and Diane, I’m so happy I never went to see you then. That would have done you a terrible wrong. But I did decide to spend some time trying to solve the mystery. I spoke to Udi and it turned out that he too knew nothing about what had actually happened to the owner of the passport.”
Udi took over.
“The people in our operational units do not have to know where their passports come from. I got it from the department that deals with documentation, with notification that its source was the Bedouin in Sinai and that there were rumours that its owner was a drug addict and had perhaps died as a consequence.”
“I was told that he was dead,” I blurted out, feeling an unconquerable need to settle this with Udi there and then.
“No. You were told that for all our practical purposes, he was dead. And also, that ‘to know’ would mean seeing the body with our own eyes, and that was something neither I nor you had done.”
The ways Udi had found to deceive me without explicitly lying had been quite labyrinthine. He had apparently been able to live comfortably with the difficulty that I was having in believing that Ron was dead throughout my service, as long as his goal was being achieved and I had confidence in my assumed identity.
Now I understood why he’d been so agitated and had hurried to get to me after I broke into the Friedlich’s house: not only could I have discovered that Ron was alive – nobody in the Mossad knew then what had happened to him – but also I could have found out that he was my cousin, and all the magnificent effort involved in recruiting and training me and sending me to establish cover would have gone up in smoke, because clearly there was no chance that I would have kept going if I’d known this. I also understood why they never kicked me out: my findings in the break-in only bolstered the assumption that the passport I was carrying didn’t have the handicap of belonging to a living person, and it was worth their while to keep me on the job.
Either way, Udi wasn’t interested in me right then. He was speaking to Leo and Diane.
“I asked those who handle documentation to check into the course the passport had taken, and I found out when it crossed from Sinai into Israel. Following Niki’s request, I also looked into the people who had infiltrated at around that time. It took a few months but, in the end, we got to the story of the guy who had crossed over without any papers and who’d been taken to the hospital in Eilat. I asked for a follow-up on what had happened to him. That’s how we discovered he was in the institution near Haifa.”
“It was only a month ago that the information came in, and I went with Udi to see him,” Niki took up the story. “We were busy with something important, so we couldn’t manage any more than that one visit.” She swallowed, nervous and embarrassed at saying this to his parents who would, perhaps, not be able to understand this negligence and forgive it. Already, the situation in which she had come to their home as my partner was in itself mortifying.
“It was an amazing visit, for me, and also because of what it did for Ron. For the first time, he began to connect events from the past and to relate to his true identity. But this clarity all at once turned into confusion which deteriorated into a psychotic episode. Ronnie began to scream, he locked himself in the toilet and ran amok. I’m so sorry, this is upsetting for you, but you should know what to expect. His nurse gave him a tranquilizing shot, and he went into a state that was very difficult for me to see,” Niki said, and choked up.
Udi took up the thread. “The psychiatrist told us that Niki’s visit and the reconnection with his identity created a breakthrough in his treatment. In his case, because of the drugs – and because there’s no information on what drugs he’d taken and what he’d been through – recovery could take a long time. Seeing Niki renewed the link with his past but it also led to a disintegrative experience, and they have had to move slowly and carefully. The psychiatrist was even more optimistic after Tomer’s visit.”
“After what?” We all jumped up and blurted out, each one of us in their own language and manner.
“The shrink said the treatment had to proceed gradually. He wanted to wait at least another two weeks before we saw Ron again. We knew Niki wouldn’t be able to visit him during that period, and he also didn’t want it to be Niki because of the attack that her visit had sparked. Then I had the idea of putting Tomer into the picture. The doctor thought it might confuse Ron even more but, after deliberating, he decided that it was worth trying.”
“And how did Tomer react?” Leo asked.
“I went to see
him a couple of weeks ago. I introduced myself as Mickey’s superior officer, and Tomer was surprised that I was familiar with the family history that he had hidden from his own son. Then he said, ‘Well, over there you probably know everything about everybody.’ I explained the situation and told him the doctor was keen on a visit from a family member. I said Mickey wouldn’t be available any time soon, nor would Niki or I, that we were going abroad, and that you, Ron’s parents, were totally unaware of what was going on, and at that point in time we couldn’t put you in the picture. Tomer didn’t hesitate for a moment.”
“But what did he say?” Leo insisted.
“That family is family,” Udi replied, and again there was a sticky silence.
I also had a question, which I preferred to ask in Hebrew. “Tell me, when you introduced yourself to my parents, when my father said what he said … What do they think, you know, about my exhibitions and all that?”
“Don’t be a child,” he spat out. “If they don’t know exactly, they know more or less. Do you think your father would stay quiet about you spending so much time abroad, if he didn’t get it?”
As soon as he’d jabbed me with this barb, Udi addressed the Friedlichs again.
“I spoke to the psychiatrist the day before yesterday. He told me that Tomer’s visit went well. Ron remembered that his father had a twin brother in Israel and understood that Tomer was his uncle. The doctor said the time had come to bring close relatives into the picture. He also needs you to fill him in on Ron’s medical history. He has to know, for example, if Ron ever had epileptic fits, or symptoms of depression or manic behaviour, or episodes of amnesia. It would help him come up with a precise diagnosis and, of course, the right treatment to get him out of it.
“As I told you yesterday, the Israeli government will pay for your flight and stay in the country. You have reservations on a flight tomorrow, if that suits you.”
“We’ll start packing right away, won’t we love?” Leo said as he turned to Diane. “And you can tell your government that we are very, very grateful.”
“The gratitude should be in the opposite direction. And it won’t cost us as much as you think. I’ve spoken to Tomer and he says that the guest room in their home in Haifa is ready for you.”
As we stood up to leave, I looked around me, taking in the American plenty, the designer furniture, the thick white rug, all very different from what they’d find in my parents’ “guest room” which was nothing more than my sisters’ room, or mine, ten feet by eight, with a bed, a teenager’s desk and a wardrobe made of MDF.
Then my eye spotted the poetry book on the cabinet. Perhaps a copy of the one I had seen in the Friedlichs’ bedroom when I broke in. I picked it up, as if it were the first time I’d seen it. In the background I heard Udi ordering a cab.
“Whose book of poems is this?”
Leo chuckled. “At one time, ages ago, when we were kids, I thought I’d be a poet, and your dad wanted to be an inventor. At school he’d design all kinds of spaceships. I became a dentist and he’s a forester. All I ever wrote then were poems to girls but after all the traumas in Israel, the Yom Kippur War, the Gulf War, the Lebanon War – the words came flowing out, together with all the fears and the demons. And that book happened here, after fear made me run away. After I saw there was no hope there. After each of the traumas I wrote a number of poems and then I had them printed and bound. At the last minute, I decided to include a poem about peace, which I wrote after Rabin and Hussein made peace, or after the signing of the pact with Arafat at the White House, I don’t recall which.”
A poem about peace? I turned the book over, and there it was on the back cover, in very small print. Its not very original title was And Perhaps.
The footsteps of peace are muffled.
Peace steals secretively into the heart,
Confused, hesitant,
Self-effacing.
Without fanfares,
Without drum rolls.
As if ashamed of giving up:
Giving up on heroism,
Giving up on conquests,
Giving up on vengeance
For generations of injustice.
It has even given up
On justice, on truth,
And on what’s rightfully ours.
“You can take it with you, a gift from me,” Leo broke into my perusal of the poem. “In any case, I dreamed of showing it to your father so that perhaps he’d understand me. Both you and Ronnie are mentioned in it. Not by name,” he added when he saw my frown of surprise, “but you’ll see there’s a poem there about my sons, that is the sons of the poet who are fighting in the last war. I was thinking about you two when I wrote it. You’re the older, he’s the younger. Everything was so tangible to me. How could I have allowed him to go? And look where he’s ended up.”
And again he stood there, helpless. We kissed and hugged again and again. Udi exchanged thank yous with Leo and Diane, and we left.
When the door closed behind us, Udi placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on Niki’s and pulled us together. “This may not be the right place to say it, or the right time, but I want you to have all the information you need to make the decision you need to make. The passport is still alive, because Leo and Diane will probably let us keep on using it, and Ron won’t be needing it any time soon. But in the last few days, you’ve been on our table at HQ. We have analyzed all the implications of the fact that the three of us have been exposed. For most target countries, especially those directly or indirectly linked with Iran, we are burned.”
“Meaning?”
“That as far as Arab countries are concerned, Algiers was our final stop,” he watched our reactions. “We will apparently be able to function, but not in Arab countries. It’s a pity, but the world’s a big place and we have enemies everywhere so there’s no lack of work. However, that’s not all.”
“What else is there?” I asked. Although I didn’t intend to go back to the Mossad, I was interested in hearing what was graver than the fact that the career he’d planned for us had melted away and that even Udi himself was in many ways out of the game.
“Napoleon said he didn’t want generals who were clever or bold, but generals with luck. You are both clever and brave but Mickey, the fact that in both of your last missions you were arrested shows that you are not lucky. It’s been decided to release you from operational duties. If you wish, there are a lot of staff options for you at HQ.”
“And Niki?” I asked with a quaking voice.
“Niki and you are a package deal.” Looking at her, he added: “Without any connection to the fact that you were also detained, and we don’t like that, if Mickey doesn’t stay, neither will you.”
So many options were now open to me, to us both. I didn’t have to run away from my destiny any more – my destiny had stopped haunting me. Niki’s sympathetic but unsurprised expression implied that she’d known all this, and was anxiously waiting to see my reaction. When she saw the relief on my face, the gleam returned to her eyes.
“I’ve booked seats for you as well, if you decide you don’t want to miss the family celebration,” said Udi.
I embraced Niki and answered, “We wouldn’t miss it for all the money in the world.”
Niki drove us back to town as questions ran through my mind. What would happen when we all met up in Haifa? And after that? What then? Leo’s book was in my lap. I picked it up and read the rest of the peace poem on the back cover.
The footsteps of peace are silent.
Lest someone lift his voice,
Lest someone lift his weapon,
Before peace finds its place
Inside our hearts,
Settles there and prospers
And looks all around
At the great light that will shine then.
And we shall feel
Conquered
As if by a first love
By a great hope
By a new life.
Pea
ce comes stealthily
And we wonder
How is it that we didn’t know
That the day was near?
And we rejoice
And refuse to believe.
My eyes went back to the title, And Perhaps. A tiny bit of the hope that my uncle had harboured when he wrote the poem had trickled into my breast. And perhaps.
Niki drove on, without intruding, and I became absorbed in contemplation. In my imagination I pictured a scene:
My father and my uncle, Diane and my mother, Niki and I are standing at the entrance to a small pavilion. On a bench facing us, skinny, confused and smiling, sits Ronnie, my cousin and my double. The pavilion is painted white, and the sea winds and salt have peeled off the top layers. Around it, there is a withered lawn that all attempts to nurture and maintain have failed to revive but it seems that the people living here have not given up on the hope that they will be able to make the grass grow. There is a hot sun shining on our backs but a fresh breeze is keeping us cool. The sun is in Ronnie’s eyes and he is squinting. Niki, a little apart from me, moves so that her slight body will shade his face. My father puts his arm around Leo’s shoulders. My mother and Diane have tears in their eyes. I take a small leather pouch out of my coat pocket and from it extract a Canadian passport with the royal coat of arms on its worn cover. I take a last look at the photograph inside of the smiling, long-haired young man, with his strong face and square jaw, and I hand it to Ronnie. “You need it now more than I do,” I tell him.
I erase the scene from my mind, so that I won’t see Udi standing there, watching us.
This book is dedicated to the victims, both the dead and the wounded, of the terrorist attacks that are mentioned in the book and the many attacks that are not mentioned, but have not been forgotten; to the families of the victims, and also to all the people engaged in the Sisyphean task of preventing terrorism and stopping Iran from obtaining weapons of mass destruction, only a tiny part of whose activities has been hinted at here.
Final Stop, Algiers: A Thriller Page 43
