by Dana Arama
"Hmm. When you put it that way, the picture’s not so good. I think you'll have to extend the frame.”
"I'm afraid you're right, Dalia. Let me call you later. I have to have this conversation with him before I regret it.”
The door to the pool complex was open. I went and sat down on the couch. I could water beating and splashing on the floor of the shower and him singing a song I did not recognize. I smiled. He was either a terrible singer, or the song lacked melody. He had never seemed to me like a character who sang in the shower. This feature added a touch of warmth to his personality. The water stopped, and with it the song. I felt sad because of what was about to happen.
"Hello, hello… I feel right at home." He left the bathroom and came to dry off in front of me. Where was the shy farm boy I hired?
"I want to give you a gift," I said. I smiled. I hoped it blurred the sadness in my voice.
"What gift?"
"A last gift.”
"Last?" He stopped drying off. "Are we saying goodbye?"
"We have to. You have a life to live, dreams to fulfill."
He stood quite still. I did, too. I was afraid that if I made a sound, he’d be wounded by what came out. I went to the door.
He resumed drying himself off and threw the towel on the bed. "What gift?"
"I can’t tell you." I turned to him and smiled. Did he recognize the sadness that lurked beneath my smile? "You’ll recognize it when it comes," I promised.
"Don’t delete my number, Gabi," he said. "You can reach me if you need me.” It was not happiness I saw in him. It looked more like relief.
I blew him a kiss and left. He packed his black bag and walked out of my life.
***
Amir Cohen savored his anonymity for years, not because he was modest and retiring, but rather because he was a hedonist. Anonymity was an integral part of his job; it gave him the freedom to do whatever he wanted, but the spotlights that had been turned on him recently in the name of ‘transparency’ were crippling him.
I had met Amir when he was a young officer in one of the elite units. Over the years, I watched his meteoric rise in the military as part of the common social fray. Only in recent years, thanks to ‘transparency,’ did I learn who and what he really was. When he was starting out, there were arguments for and against ‘exposure.’ Today, when everyone has a camera on their mobile phone and any phone like that is also an independent information center, Amir had to limit himself, and Amir Cohen did not like to be limited.
It was possible that for Amir Cohen, no problems would have arisen, if he expected to fit into the political system, one that included religious parties with long memories and a tough stance against rogues. Amir’s preferences had made him intractable. His face, and eating vermin, did not go hand in hand with the Israeli political system. Amir Cohen loved ‘properly cooked vermin.’ I knew that for years. He used that phrase only once, when I came back from my studies in Paris. In those days, Amir Cohen loved me too.
My first call was to Amir. I was hoping he remembered me in the grace of my youth, and I also hoped that the latest news would not deter him from visiting my home. After all, the last bodies discovered in my studio up north tagged me as ‘walking trouble’ even if I was not charged for the deaths, given they were more than justified at Guy’s hand. In my situation today, I was not considered suitable for a starting politician. What had been positive for me was the privacy he so loved. I planned to cook for him one of those snack foods which he had to give up. I was hoping that, on a full stomach, it would be easier for him to respond to me.
The second phone call was to my chef.
"My Gabriella.” I did not expect to hear so much warmth in his voice after more than three years of separation. "You’re back with us! I'm so happy to hear from you! How many people do we feed this time?"
"A good dinner, for just two or three. Tomorrow night. I thought about Lobster Thermidor for the main course. I’ll leave the rest to you.”
"Oh," Chaim was enthused, "I love your direction. You always find a way to challenge me. I’ll be with you in an hour and we’ll plan it all. I’ll call my fish supplier immediately and check what's in stock.”
"Wait, Chaim - you may be not excited by the additional terms.”
"Let's hear what else you have in store for me on short notice…”
"You work alone. Without a sous chef, without waiters.”
"Oh Gabriella, what am I to do with you? You set fire to my imagination. How could I tell you no?”
I smiled at the phone. "As always, you’ve saved me." This time from myself.
***
Amir came without his wife. Protocol made me invite both, but I preferred the current situation.
"Not only did she apologize for not coming," he announced at the entrance, "she also regrets it, and I quote: ‘I'm sure I am missing one of the best meals of my life.’"
"Even if we make her up a doggy bag, she’s missing the atmosphere." I smiled and put a glass of whiskey with ice in his hand.
Chaim prepared a small plate of small and aesthetic appetizers, which were almost too beautiful to touch. I served them in the living room to eat until we were called to the dining room for the meal itself. It was my way of breaking the ice after so long.
"I see that, despite everything that’s happened to you, you haven’t lost your perfect touch for entertaining."
"You know all my news?”
"Breaking news..." I saw a twitch of a smile on his face, "… and a plethora of cold bodies."
"Yes, and there were quite a few of them recently."
"According to my information, the police concluded that it was a power struggle within this mafia family. Everyone who was known as a member disappeared from the area and that includes the boss’s wife.”
"Wow, you know about the wife, too? Poor thing - she married the wrong person; she’s a different kind of victim.”
"She was a former KGB agent and as dangerous as he was. She often worked quietly behind the scenes. Only in your case, they made a lot of noise, all at your expense.”
"And just because of that noise, I chose to break away. You know me. I never liked to find myself on the headlines.""
“Whoever insists on staying away from journalists, the headlines still reach him.”
"I hope that this visit won’t be winkled out by journalists.”
"I believe I still have one or two tricks that enable me to avoid them when necessary.”
Chaim came in, wiping his hands on his white coat. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized Amir. After all, it wasn’t every day that he cooked a private meal for the head of the Mossad. Despite his, shock he went as expected. "Ma'am, Sir. Dinner awaits you in the dining area."
"Thank you, Chaim." Amir smiled. He was still not used to being personally identifiable. "I'm sure that if journalists make it a big deal, the food will have been worth it."
We rose and went into the dining room. "The smell has already raised my appetite."
"If I'm not mistaken, you’ve always been fond of sea scallops, haven’t you?"
"Especially when stir-fried on a bed of alfalfa leaves. Gabi, it’s divine. The saltiness is subtle, exactly as it should be.”
I smiled with pleasure. All that was left was to pour the Sauvignon Blanc into the glasses.
"A great start to an evening with raised expectations," he said with a smile. "You can be sure that Edna will know exactly what she missed."
"The doggy bag offer still stands." I tasted the oysters. Personally, I had never liked the taste.
Chaim looked in questioningly.
"Chaim, you outdid yourself." Amir said with a smile. His words reeked of approval, like he was an Italian expert.
"Hungry diners are always satisfied. I see that you’re ready to continue.” Martinis, including a perfect sphere of sour mango sorbet decorated with mint leaves, cleansed our palates of the first course.
We settled back. Amir took off his tie, wh
ich, for me, was the best sign of breaking the ice.
“What's up with the Kormans, have they calmed down, too?”
"I heard that Nathaniel was going to marry a beautiful young blonde." I pushed the plate away from me and added with a smile, "I guess they consider her a good replacement. The age of the Moroccan daughter-in-law is over."
"A young beautiful blonde, you say?" He also pushed the empty plate away, "might be worth checking it out. Sergey's wife also answers this description”.
“Didn’t you say she left the country?” I was certain he was overreacting. Perhaps his job has made him paranoid.
“I didn’t say she left. I said she disappeared. It’s an important distinction”. He paused, and seemed to want to change the subject. “Tell me, Gabriella, how are you getting on by yourself?"
"It's too long a story for now. Enough about me." I did not want to tell him about Guy at this point in the evening. I preferred to raise the issue once I chose to. "Tell me about the family. How are the kids? How’s Edna?"
"Matan, our youngest, is causing us problems. I guess that while he grew up, Edna and I were so busy at work that he’s punishing us today.”
"Punishing? How is this expressed?”
"Can you imagine me or Edna raising a child who has grown up a self-proclaimed pacifist? Who publicly supports the Palestinians, votes green, and participates in demonstrations against the separation wall?”
"Uh oh. You raised a rebel. The question, of course, is against whom and what he rebels. He’s against the good and for the bad, and is especially against you.”
"And the more Edna and I get promoted to higher ranks, the more radical he becomes.”
"Edna continues to advance in the army?”
"These days, she’s a general and head of personnel. I, personally, can see no reason why a woman shouldn’t reach the rank of Major General. I know some women do rise because of equal opportunity quotas, but in her case, the promotion is really well-deserved.”
"Women carry a heavy weight on their shoulder. I'm sure they can also carry ranks.”
"Without a doubt. She manages to work around the clock and deal with Matan’s chaos”
"And the press isn’t exploiting it?”
"We were able to stop several articles about our family, but we both know that nothing lasts forever. Once we both leave the service, we’ll have to go through some family therapy. He’s become quite a handful for us. “
As we spoke, the second course was brought. The aroma of garlic and melted butter preceded Chaim. On the service cart were two plates, on which were portions of Lobster Thermidor. "I tasted this dish for the first time I went with Pierre to a restaurant," I told him. "It’s engraved in my memory as a special experience. I hope you enjoy it." With that, Chaim served fresh crispy bread, and quarters of lemon with mint leaves that were served in a net cloth.
He watched, enjoying the aromas before he took the fork in his hand. "It looks like a work of art.”
"This is a classic French dish," I explained. "Cooked lobster meat with egg yolks, cream and cognac or brandy. After cooking, it’s inserted back into the shell, baked a little longer, and presented as individual portions.”
"An interesting variation on enjoying the contents without the shell, or is it vice versa – being within a shell and but not having to deal with it.”
I laughed. "It was Pierre’s way of thinking about small things. He wanted to spare me the embarrassment of dealing with the lobster. I found it very luxurious, and I still think so."
Chaim decided asparagus stir-fried with a touch of pickled beets was fit to accompany the dish. A vintage Chardonnay complemented it completely. He was right. A salad made of young lettuce, arugula, and pear cut into thin pieces with roasted nuts marked the end of the meal.
The atmosphere around the table was relaxed and pleasant. I was happy about that. It was not easy to ask for favors, certainly not from Amir.
"You're still avoiding desserts?" I asked.
"Nice. You remembered. I’ve always believed that it’s unnecessary to change the taste of a good meal.”
"So, shall we go through to the balcony?" On the way to the patio, I opened the cigar box and let him choose.
Chaim had laid out a wooden tray on which there were cheeses, including cut summer fruits and another bottle of wine. It was a perfect end to a perfect meal.
"Okay, Gabriella. Let's hear what you have to say to me.”
"The young man who was with me the past few months... " I hesitated. "I came to ask something on his behalf and without his knowledge," I quickly added.
Amir blew a plume of cigar smoke upwards and looked at me. "And I guess he wouldn’t be happy if he knew you asked.”
"No, definitely not. From what I’ve learned, he’s of high morals and aims to prove himself on his own." I sipped the sweet wine and quickly added, "However, I must say, he’s very bold and creative.”
"That’s an interesting way to describe a man.”
"And that's not all. He’s very intelligent, and... " I raised my hand and stopped him from saying his piece. "I remember that intelligence is not an end, but a means, so I will say to his credit that he learns quickly and realizes the situation around him quickly. And in addition to everything I outlined so far, he has the most impressive physical abilities. He’s a candidate who can contribute." I took another sip. I wanted courage before saying the words. "He applied to the Mossad, or maybe someone nominated him. To my knowledge, he hasn’t yet received an answer one way or another. Is there any way you can help him?”
"A direct question justifies a straight answer that I can’t give you right now," said Amir, “but I promise to check." He thought a moment. “Sophistication, ingenuity, creativity and ability withstand pressure. That's what we're looking for. But that’s what every rookie criminal has, so add honesty and reliability, too." He gave me his investigator look, one I knew very well. "He must agree to a polygraph test.”
His tone was warning me off. Was he aware of what I was so careful to hide? "On that matter," I said cautiously, "I wonder if any flexibility can be shown." Almost in a whisper I added “It’s possible that this particular test is the reason he withdrew his candidacy... And, in that case, the loss is ours."
"I guess he's important to you, this young man." Did I hear the sound of envy in his voice? "I'll take another look at his case.”
He had made me a promise, but now I had doubts. Still, I picked up the glass. "Cheers!" I declared with a smile, ending the discussion. I knew that the boundary between help and damage is very delicate. We went back to talk about mutual subjects that concerned us, he about his children and I about my move to Paris, but my thoughts were with Guy. I needed to show him gratitude for all that he had done for me - the risks he had taken, the dangers he overcame, the confidence he had in me - and how he killed the man who murdered my husband and son. I needed to more than thank him for his help in making me feel like the woman I was before my marriage. The six-figure amount I deposited into his bank account was not the real gift. It was designed to disguise this meal I had with the head of Mossad in order to plead Guy’s case. Even friendship that founded on blood, sweat, and tears involves a secret or two.
part 7 - Guy 2012
Chapter 26
It had been three weeks that I’d got up every morning, taken a shower, got dressed, combed my hair (which now tended to be blonde) and pinned the yamaka on my head. These were my preparations before going to work. I looked through the kitchen window. Antwerp did not smile at me. The sky was dark. On the sidewalk, six floors below me, gray figures took quick steps to try to get to a sheltered location before it started pouring with rain again. I put on a black coat. I picked up the umbrella and bag and locked the door behind me. When I went out to the street, it had begun to let loose an unfriendly trickle, but even that didn’t change my mood. Last night, I received a message that she’d been identified at a nightclub in Paris. I knew this routine change was expected to arriv
e any minute. Now, as I sat in the warm cab, I thought about the training I completed just a month ago, before I knew that it was to involve so many hours of boredom.
“Our mistake was the assumption that she retired from KGB." Manny pressed a button and a giant screen, which covered the wall, slid down from the ceiling. In the briefing room were twelve men. Three were instructors, the rest Mossad agents in for the evening briefing before being sent on their way to Europe.
"We have very few pictures of her." The beautiful face appeared on the screen, as it appeared on the passport with which she last entered Israel. "This is the only picture that shows her face clearly, but we know that even this photograph’s inaccurate. There are deliberate distortions. She’s beautiful, as you can see, but this is just one of her many pretty faces." Another identikit, a computerized picture, replaced the previous one. Every few seconds, the computer program changed her hair color, hairstyle, eye color, and the shape of her eyebrows. The software had further added all different types of glasses, but the basic facial features remained the same.
"We must all try to memorize these various looks, as they may be revealed to us. It’s enough. Only one second of positive ID’s needed to avoid mistakes in the field,” Manny continued. "She’s an expert in disguise and elimination. We know she’s in Europe, probably in the West. We know that, Paris, for example, she knows like the back of her hand. Ditto Brussels, Vienna, and Zurich. At the moment, she operates in circles that are considered hostile to the Jewish community, and therefore to Israel.”
Rafi, who was sitting next to Manny, got to his feet. "Guys, you should realize that you’re dealing here with a chameleon who’s professional and extremely dangerous. She’s capable of taking on any character that serves her interests, even for many years. When she set up the spy cell here in Israel, she was involved with the Russian mafia - with their boss, more accurately, and she got away.”
"In the Russian mafia, they’re not called bosses," interjected Leon. "The heads of the Mafia are called ‘thieves in law.’” Leon was a specialist on the Russian mafia and was here to provide complete information on the subject.
