by Dana Arama
We had less than twenty-four hours before the trip. During the day, I felt a strange need to train her. I tried to infuse her with more aggression, which was integral to our training in the commando unit. It was the only way I could think she could break a hold and run. Sometimes, you have only a second to escape and stay alive.
"I want you to have a conversation with Natalia," I told her as we ate the dinner that Esther had prepared in the morning.
"With Natalia?"
"With Natalia."
"I still can’t believe she's a part of it."
"Perhaps she is, maybe not. We don’t know for certain, do we?"
"Am I supposed to tell her something special?"
"Somehow, I want you to give her to understand that we’re not going to Paris."
"We’re not going to Paris?"
"We’ll go where you need to go.”
She thought for a moment and smiled. "Is Rome good enough?”
"Rome is perfect. Close, but far away." I didn’t know how this deception would help, but if Natalia was involved, she could be a new weapon on our side. Dual intelligence never makes life easier for information seekers.
An hour later, we sat on the patio and she dialed her new friend. "Natalia, hi. How are you?"
She paused and smiled while examining her fingernails. "Remember you told me about that store in Rome… that young designer?" Pause. "Oh, it was Milan? That’s great, because we plan to hire a car in Rome and take a romantic trip to Milan." She listened, laughed. She was good! "How can it be a romantic trip without shopping?" She laughed in agreement, as did Natalia. "Anyway, I need the address. Do you have it?"
She stood up and went to the kitchen. I changed my seating position and continued to examine her. Stuck to the refrigerator was a magnetic notepad, on which she wrote the address. "Thank you so much. A good boutique can make a trip." Pause. "We gave up on Paris in the end. Too conventional. Maybe next time." Pause. Smile. "Of course. Ten days. We'll meet up. Bye...” She disconnected the call. Her lips curled in a smile with a triumphant look in her eyes.
I smiled at her. "You convinced me." I left the patio and went inside.
"Should I shop?" She walked toward me and leaned against the kitchen counter.
"When we go to Rome and Milan." I went to the kitchen.
"Rome, Milan, Paris… they say the world’s a global village anyway." I put out the light in the kitchen and leaned against the doorpost.
"And you deserve a few days of quiet grace without surveillance." I went into the dining room, where there was a large wooden table with twelve chairs placed around it.
"Without surveillance, yes. Quiet, I'm not really sure. I know some great clubs in the City of Light." She leaned over the back of the first chair in the corner of the dining room.
"So are you planning to have fun?" I approached her and moved the chair that stood between us.
"I plan to have fun before we go." She came over to me and removed my shirt. I picked her up and sat her on the table.
"It’d be nice to eat you on the table," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
"Try it. I think you'll find the meal hot."
Chapter 18
The thunder of the aircraft's engine became a monotonous hum that would last for several hours. Gabriella opened her seatbelt buckle and sat back while leaning on my arm.
"I love this city." I heard the excitement in her voice. "I have fond memories of Paris."
"I went to Paris once, before I was drafted. But it was five years ago, on vacation after I was injured. My cousin, Claude, hosted me.” I settled back in my seat and started to tell her the story of my love-hate for this city. "In the evening, we went out for a beer. When we left the pub, there were gangs of Muslim youths. He wanted to move to the other side of the street."
"You hang out in dodgy areas, or at the usual leisure spots?"
"We hung out on the margins of the usual places, for young locals, not tourists."
"Yes. I understand. A bright young man, your cousin. The police presence is strong in the touristy areas. Beyond them, tourists don’t feel safe. But it's like that in every city in the world."
"Wait. I have more to tell you. A few days after, we drove north to his parents’, in Lille. A few years ago, the two communities lived there in peace. Muslims used to buy meat at the Jewish butcher, because it was kosher, of course. My uncle used to provide medical services voluntarily to their communities. And yet, when I visited, they were experiencing the same trouble - in broad daylight, in the city center. This wasn’t anti-Semitism. This was real, nationalist violence. They started to destroy Lille, too. Today, it’s even worse!”
"And that’s where we have to go. It won’t be easy.”
I smiled at her. Now, sitting with her in First Class on the plane to Paris, a glass of champagne in my hand, I could honestly say to her, "I’ve been through worse”.
She smiled and closed her eyes. Just sitting on the plane reassured her. Perhaps it was the idea of disengagement from Israel, or the fact that we’d done what we could to confuse the enemy. While she slept next to me, I flicked through my photos from the airport, trying to identify familiar faces. I didn’t have many sources for comparison - old articles from the Internet, the event we attended together, strangers hanging around when I was not aware of the situation. For me, it was not a recreational trip, but an operation against an enemy; I had no idea what they looked like or when they would appear. I could only hope they wouldn’t appear at all. If I were chasing her and had advance intelligence about Paris, I’d send troops to both Paris and Rome. There was still a shadow of a chance that they were unaware of our changing to the Paris flight from the Rome one. We started out with too many ‘maybes.’ I didn’t like feeling that the enemy had surrounded us, but we couldn’t see them.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I didn’t sleep. I was fully alert. If anything happened on the plane, it wouldn’t be because I fell asleep on duty.
***
I didn’t have much good stuff to say about Paris in the summer. I’d disliked this city recently, since it appeared that the Muslim population had started to outnumber the native Parisians. I started to feel tense, almost like I was back in Gaza.
The streets were steaming, almost like in Tel Aviv, but the Four Seasons was kept fully air conditioned. The lobby was impressive, as was their welcoming committee for Gabi at the airport, where a driver was waiting to pick us up. We’re not talking about a bus that collects and disperses tourists going to and from various hotels. This was a limo with a uniformed driver.
"Madame Korman," he said as he picked up the bags and opened the car doors for us.
"Henri. Comment ça va?” She was a regular customer at the hotel. It was not at all reassuring, because I knew that whoever was hunting her might also be a regular customer. If this were the case, the best service would be provided for us both… but the hunter may ask for something beyond another pillow or extra towels.
“Maybe it’d be better to choose a hotel that you don’t normally stay at,” I suggested to Gabi after we pulled up. “In our current situation, it’s better to be unpredictable."
She gave me a look. "A little late for that now. If you think it's really necessary, we can find another place."
The limo slid up to the entrance to the hotel, where concierge staff swarmed over the luggage like locusts, which was very surprising. I didn’t consider the French as being great at service. On the other hand, I’d never stayed at a hotel that came even close to this one.
The few moments we were outside made me appreciate the air conditioning inside even more. The front desk knew Gabi, too. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the good memory of the older receptionist, or the efficiency of the computer network. Either way, within a few minutes, we were in our room. The first thought that came to my mind was that it would be a shame to leave it.
***
"There are plenty of romantic places to go at night."
&
nbsp; "I know." I kissed her earlobe. A shiver of pleasure ran down her back. "Assuming, of course, that there aren’t dozens of noisy tourists around."
My cellular phone made a familiar sound. I glanced at it and opened the message. "You are connected to a new network." I confirmed the new network connection. On this occasion, I realized, I should put it on charge. I got up and pulled out my hand luggage bag.
"We can enjoy the night lights of the Eiffel Tower, or to Montparnasse,” Gabi suggested. “We could go up to the open roof. We could also go up to the roof terrace of the Arc de Triomphe, and, of course, Sacré Coeur - a cold place is a romantic environment."
"Every tourist goes there." She laughed. She was reading to me from their tourist leaflets.
“Or we can go to a club."
"We’ll do whatever you want to do." I went back to lie down on the bed next to her. "But first, we should investigate this apartment of your husband’s." I wanted to get it over with. All her words rang true. Her eyes yearned for me with honesty, but I knew that, behind her exterior, a very dangerous woman was hiding. Dangerous to me, at least. I didn’t know if the mysterious apartment located in a ‘dangerous’ area was, indeed, a hiding place - or was it another torture chamber? I wanted to get it over with.
"I don’t know about that – we shouldn’t go there at night! Better to go tomorrow morning."
"There’s nothing to discuss. Dress appropriately, Gabi: jeans, loose shirt, and scarf. Oh, and don’t forget to wear sneakers." If she was going to insist on going tomorrow, I’d just have to insist more that we went right away. If the Russian mob was after us, maybe we did manage to confuse them, but it would only be for a short time. And if she was planning to ambush me at the apartment, I'd rather have her attempt it when she wasn’t quite ready.
"What? You intend to walk there? We’re at the Four Seasons. They have a limousine for guests like me -"
"And then the other guests know where you’re going and where you’ve been? No way! We won’t walk far - a few blocks, maybe - make sure we’re not being followed, and then take a taxi to the apartment.”
"I have a more enticing proposal.”
"Your offers are always alluring… you’re all temptation. But we’re still walking. Now!”
Reluctantly, she got off the bed.
"Oh, and just get ready without showering first, please."
"What? I just got off a plane…"
"It won’t kill you. You showered this morning and you can take a shower when we get back. I don’t want you smelling like a perfumery. In fact, wear one of my shirts. You don’t want to look like a million dollars.”
Her face broke into a smile. "In other circumstances, it’d be very sexy to wear your big shirt and no panties after a sexy night." I loved to see her in this mood: amused, flirty and relaxed. I blamed it on this city, which cut her off completely from the tension of Israel. I knew it would disappear the closer we got to the destination.
I smiled. "You'll get a sexy night, all right. But, hey, it’s only the afternoon. Go to my suitcase and pick out something to wear."
Just before we left the room, I opened the safe, took out the passports and tickets we’d put in there and put them into the bag. I put her expensive watch, the necklace she always wore, and her ring in the safe. Fine jewelry didn’t fit where we were going. Her wedding ring was the only remaining piece of jewelry on her. I looked at her again. With a scarf on her head, she blended into the crowd.
***
"Madame Korman?" I heard the shock of surprise in Henri's voice. He had a right to be. She'd never looked worse. I forced her to wear jeans that were at least a size too large. She’d bought them long before we started out training. My T-shirt was much more than one size larger, and her shawl didn’t match the rest of her outfit.
"Henri." She stopped smiling. "What don’t you do for young love, eh?" She was clever. Without a doubt. I loved her talent to find the right word in every situation.
"Where would you like me to take you?" I think he wanted to remove her quickly from the hotel entrance. This was not how their guests should look.
"We plan to walk around right now. This evening, we’ll be needing your services." Then we’ll be dressed accordingly, I thought.
"Good day, Madame." Henry was well aware of who was holding the knife with butter.
"Good day, Henri."
We started to move away from the flocks of tourists. Not too fast, not too slow. Somehow, we managed to blend in with the dozens of people on the sidewalk. From time to time, we stopped in front of a window display, more to see if anyone was on our tail than to examine its contents. I was no expert at surveillance monitoring, but I was hoping that we were working against people who understood it even less.
Paris was full of tourists. The cafés were full to capacity, but we still managed to squeeze into one of them, right on the square. We sat down at a little round table on the sidewalk. Assuming a lazy tourist pose provided me with an excellent view. I hadn’t yet seen anyone I’d consider suspicious.
"Want some coffee?"
"You’re ordering coffee?"
"Sure. Coffee in the square. You know how long I dreamed of this? Want one as well?"
"No. A bottle of water will be enough for me.”
"You sure? Not even with a chocolate croissant that melts in your mouth?”
"You almost tempted me, but no thanks."
"Then why did you ask if I was ordering a coffee?"
"I wanted to know how long we’ll be sitting here. You know, if someone’s following us, let make him wait a while.”
She laughed. “If these clothes didn’t destroy my mood, apparently the word ‘following’ might do it.”
"Don’t worry. Whatever I ruin now, I'll fix later. In the meantime, we'll take time to sit here at least half an hour.”
"I don’t mind if we sit here until this evening. Just looking at people makes me feel good." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waitress approaching, bringing out her pad of paper from her apron. Gabriella also saw this movement. “Still no coffee? The waitress is coming.”
"Just water," I insisted. "Thank you.”
Paris was full of scooters. After fifteen minutes, I was beginning to wonder if it was particularly full of gray scooters with white stripes, or if it was the same scooter going around and around the square. I started to concentrate only on him, taking note of the rider’s helmet color, his height, the clothes he wore.
"You told me you went to school here. What did you study?”
The scooter’s first two circuits made me suspicious, but on the third pass, the rider had changed completely. It was a girl that rode it.
"Art, at the Sorbonne. I was so naive. I was so sure that I was an artistic genius.”
"Don’t forget you’re talking to a farmer. I know what innocence is."
The scooter rider’s helmet had changed by the fourth pass. Now it was a green one that stood out so much it was hard to forget. I’d seen him before.
She laughed. "Yeah, right. You’re hardly an innocent.”
"I'm serious. You can’t compare Tel Avi city boys to a farm boy. How did you make a living here? Did you work?”
"Most of us used to work after school. We waitressed, we painted portraits in the streets, and we participated in projects with other students. We did whatever we could to get by. At about ten o'clock, we’d start partying. If we saw something going on, we’d stop to buy a bottle of wine, or some baguettes, maybe some cheese, and just show up at the party.”
"So you were a reckless student?"
She looked at her phone in her bag. I didn’t hear a ring tone. Had she managed to send an SMS without me noticing, and just now received an answer?
“In Israel, I was wild. In Paris, it was a time of ecstasy. But there was also something naive. Sometimes, when there was something to celebrate, but there was no one to celebrate with, we just picked up people along the street. It wasn’t about sleeping around or anything like that, i
t was more along the lines of music, dancing. Party fun.”
"Even today, you love to celebrate.” If only today’s celebrations were not so naive.
In the square, a gray scooter with a white stripe appeared again. The rider wearing the green helmet rider was gone.
***
Even the taxi driver wasn’t happy to go to that part of the city. It had a bad reputation and the fact that darkness had fallen just added to his unease. We got out of the cab about a block from where we wanted to go, and the taxi sped away. It was clear that the driver didn’t want to hand about. Gabi had the scarf on her head, her handbag slung diagonally across her body, and she’d fastened it, to be safe. We walked hand in hand. We weren’t in a tourist spot and the sidewalks weren’t crowded. Tourists came here only if they were lost. We didn’t look like tourists, but we were strangers in the area.
At that moment, ordinary life had stopped in this poor neighborhood: young children no longer roamed the streets and mothers weren’t bringing home their shopping. This was when all the demons of the neighborhood came out. Groups of bored teenagers were not a good sign. Their provocative looks from both sides of the street warned me off. But we had to come.
I put my hand on her shoulder and kept going. To our right were four black boys, sharing a portion of fries. How sad poverty seemed from this angle, yet dangerous. We stopped once we got to the right address. The light in the stairway was dim. However, we started to climb up the stairs. The first floor had a burnt out bulb, on the second floor there was none, but on the third floor there was light at the end of the passage: one tired bulb.
"I could vomit from the smell in here," I heard Gabi whisper by my side.
I could understand that. The smell of urine and excrement got worse as we went up. It mingled with the smell of foods, especially fried, which came from the apartments and stuck to the stairwell, and the smell of acrid cigarettes. We stopped in front of a door with half a number 9 scrawled on it. I’d relied more on the number of doors we counted when we passed by in order to find it.
