by Uzi Eilam
“That’s it?” Nurit asked.
“You have to attach a summary of your research,” Francois instructed her, “and from what you’ve told me, even your introduction is enough. It sounds perfect, together with the chapter presenting your hypothesis and laying the theoretical basis for further research. That’ll convince them.”
Nurit couldn’t help asking, “Do you know, from your experience, how much I can expect to receive?”
“They usually provide a generous initial grant, even up to fifty thousand dollars, depending on the importance of the subject, and then a monthly grant of between five and twenty thousand dollars.”
“So much?” Nurit exclaimed. “And they don’t need a recommendation from the faculty?”
“It’s unnecessary,” Francois assured her. “They have a staff of advisors that they trust. I may even be asked to recommend you, and I’ll be happy to.” He looked at her warmly.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Francois.”
There is a way, I guess, but we’ll see how the evening develops, she thought. Her feelings still mixed, she filled out the forms and signed them. I’m still not sure who the funding is from, and Francois didn’t even give me a hint what my commitment to it will be. But who cares… It’s enough money for me to stop relying on Yudke for handouts.
“Can I email the relevant chapters to you tomorrow?”
“Oh, but of course! I’ll send them to the foundation’s secretary as soon as I receive them.” He moved to the table to open the bottle of wine. “We deserve a toast to your success,” he said as he slid the cork out of the Saint Emilion Bordeaux. “This bottle is from Chateau de la Roque. A particularly good year for France’s red wines.”
Nurit watched Francois ceremoniously fill each glass, not before tasting the wine and nodding to himself in approval.
“L’chaim,” Nurit said. “And to your success in persuading the foundation.”
“A la santé,” he replied. “To your health.” He looked deeply into her eyes through the raised glass.
Nurit put her glass down after a long sip and looked at him. “This wine is fantastic,” she said, “and again, thank you so much for everything you’re doing for me.”
Francois placed his glass on the table, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek. He turned his head, and their lips met in a deep, long kiss. Holding his hand, Nurit stood up, and Francois followed suit. Gently, she loosened his tie and took off his jacket. She unbuttoned his shirt, and he allowed it to drop to the floor. He put his arm around her as they walked to the bedroom. Francois allowed her to lead and responded passionately to her tongue as it discovered every sensitive spot on his body. He lay on his back as she stretched out beside him, and he quickly entered her.
How gentle, how sensitive he is, she thought as she lay beside him, both catching their breath. She didn’t want to compare the men in her life, certainly not at that moment.
“We haven’t eaten a thing!” she remembered suddenly.
“Of course!” Francois jumped up. “Such a pretty table deserves our attention,” he said as he touched up their glasses.
“L’chaim,” Nurit said again, “and thank you!”
“A la santé,” he answered and added a philosophical note. “Have you noticed, Nurit, that you say ‘to life’ whereas we say ‘to health’—without which there is no life?”
“I’ll accept your correction.” Nurit smiled. “But both in Hebrew and in French, people say bon appetite, so here we go.” She smiled and pulled Francois to the table.
They devoured everything as they discussed Nurit’s dissertation and the odds of her scholarship being approved, which Francois said were without a doubt very high. Eventually, they parted at the door with a hug and a gentle kiss.
Nurit curled up in her favorite armchair and thought about everything that had happened that night.
I’m getting a scholarship, she thought happily, and I’m going to be free to live as I wish.
All the threats and mysterious events were pushed aside. She was hopeful again.
28.
There was no mistaking the identity of the three men who entered the Israeli consulate building. They were wearing dark suits, white shirts, and almost identical black ties. The guard at the entrance stood up straight when they showed him their IDs, disclosing their senior status at the FBI, whereas the guard at the entrance to the consulate offices remained unimpressed. He muttered a few words into the phone, received a brief answer, and stood up, apologizing to the guests for the delay as he took their IDs and Smith & Wesson pistols for safekeeping.
“Are you sure this matter justifies coming all the way from the West Coast?” Special Agent Jeffrey Williams whispered into Pearce’s ear.
“We’ll wait and see,” Pearce whispered back, “and in the meantime, let the Israelis tell us what they know.”
Yoni was already by the door to welcome them. “Thank you for making the time to meet at such short notice.”
“Thank you, Mr. Feldman, we’re happy to be here,” said Aldo Pearce, the deputy director of the FBI’s National Security Branch and the senior of the three. “Let me introduce you. This is Special Agent John O’Connor from the Information and Technology Branch and Special Agent Jeffrey Williams from the Science and Technology Branch. I understand you’ve made a few discoveries that may interest us.”
“Come with me.” Yoni led his guests to a conference room that was protected against eavesdropping. “And please leave your mobile phones with my secretary. I’m sure you’re familiar with the protocol.”
“For the past three weeks, we’ve been trying to decipher three seemingly different developments,” Yoni began, “but you’ll soon see that the three are very likely connected.”
“Are you talking about the missile defense projects? We know about the Callnet card and Dr. Ben-Ari’s project,” Pearce said. “We’re listening, but please make it brief—just give us the main points of what you’ve discovered so far.”
Yoni remained calm as he told them everything he knew, impressed by their professionalism. They had their own sources and even knew about Ryan Davis, but he also knew it was essential to convince them of how important the issues were.
“From the brief report you sent us,” Pearce said as he peeled a tangerine, “I understand that you have important information regarding Ryan Davis.”
“That’s right. We’ve been shadowing him for two weeks, following the information that Gideon Ben-Ari gave us.”
“And?”
“Twice, he slipped into an apartment building in Chinatown. Apartment 6, 469 Grant Avenue. Third floor.”
“Did you enter the apartment?” Pearce asked, his gaze nailed to Yoni’s face.
Yoni hesitated for a moment but decided to be completely candid. “Yes. We made a quiet entry. As you know, it isn’t exactly legal,” he said. “We looked around, but we didn’t touch a thing. It seems to be a hideout for a foreign organization. We believe that Ryan Davis is connected to them somehow, although we don’t know exactly who he met there. That was the stage at which we decided to stop working alone and involve you.”
“Good decision,” Aldo Pearce said. “I suggest you don’t touch the apartment again and allow us to take over surveillance.”
“We’d love you to take it upon yourselves,” Yoni replied, already very familiar with the American way of putting things, and he knew that Pearce’s suggestion was an unambiguous order. Yoni also felt relieved by the FBI’s insistence on taking over the surveillance.
“We’ll need to tighten security against leaks at SRI,” Pearce said grimly. “We’re responsible for this mission. Dr. Gerald Deutsch is very trustworthy. He’s one of us, but there’s no reason to burden him too much. He has enough to do, running the institute. That’s a full-time job, and as far as we’re concerned, it’s sufficient for Deutsch to know of the steps th
at we’re going to take.”
The two other agents nodded in response, and Yoni wondered how much Pearce’s statement was meant as criticism against Deutsch.
“What do you suggest I tell people?” Yoni asked. “What instructions should we give Dr. Avni? And his wife, Nurit—what should she prepare for?” Yoni didn’t ask about Gideon.
“The security officer at New Horizons is an ex–FBI man. He’ll know how to brief Dr. Avni,” Pearce said, and as far as his wife… That’s a little more complicated…” He paused to think.
“Does that mean,” Yoni dared, “that we basically don’t have a clue who the harasser or harassers are?”
“That’s precisely the point,” Pearce confirmed. “We may have to track her phone calls. Without her knowledge, of course, and make sure she doesn’t find out, or get even a hint of it.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Pearce,” Yoni assured him, “we’re used to the procedures. We won’t breathe a word to anyone. But, tell me, how will we maintain contact from now on? Who should we be in daily contact with?”
“John O’Connor will stay here to coordinate all activities, and he’ll be available at all times on his mobile phone or through our office here in San Francisco.”
John nodded at Yoni in confirmation.
“I suggest we hold a meeting in two weeks, to check on progress. By then, I hope we’ll have gathered enough intelligence to analyze, and we can decide how to act. Yoni, I’d like to invite you to visit our base in Quantico, Virginia. You can bring anyone you wish. That’s where the organization’s academy is located, so we’ll have all the necessary means to examine and analyze the data.”
***
They parked the van on Grant Avenue, across the road from number 469. It looked like any other van making morning deliveries. The driver remained in his seat while the passenger, dressed in a telephone company uniform, walked confidently toward the entrance to the apartment building. The door to apartment 6 bore no sign of the tenants’ identity. He knocked twice on the door, and when no one answered, he put on a pair of thin felt gloves, pulled a bunch of keys from his backpack, and quickly opened the door. No one was in, and he picked up the phone and attached a tiny device to the bottom of the base. Landscape pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge in the hall and at the entrance to the bedroom were his next stop, and he pressed tiny flat devices to the back of each.
To the technician, the sound of the key turning in the door sounded like thunder in the silence. He froze for a moment, looking disbelievingly at the door and cursing under his breath. Then he dashed madly for the window and disappeared down the fire escape without being seen, just before the door opened and a man walked in slowly.
The technician got into the van. “You didn’t warn me, John!” he growled at the driver. “I was almost caught in the apartment—I barely made it to the fire escape.”
“Sorry, Sandy,” John O’Connor said as he drove off. “I didn’t see anyone enter the building after you. There must be another entrance we don’t know of.” He shrugged, and then continued, “The main thing is that you reacted quickly and made it out without a hitch.”
“The building doesn’t have another entrance,” Sandy said sullenly.
O’Connor looked at him for a moment. “Then I think the solution is far simpler.”
Sandy saw no point in continuing the discussion with his superior.
***
Yoni settled into the cramped economy seat on the American Airlines flight to Washington.
After landing, he made the forty-mile trip from Washington National Airport to Quantico, the view flashing by unnoticed on the drive there. The marine at the gate to the base straightened up and saluted sharply at the sight of the car. Yoni’s escort showed him and Hannan, his assistant, to the conference room, where Aldo Pearce, John O’Connor, and Jeffrey Williams were waiting with another two men. Pearce quickly introduced them after walking over to meet them at the door and greet them with a firm handshake.
“These are our guests, Mr. Yonatan Feldman and Mr. Hannan Yahav from the Israeli consulate in San Francisco. Please meet Dr. Gerald Deutsch. I’m sure you’ve heard of him from Gideon Ben-Ari.”
While they shook hands, Pearce made his way over to the other man and patted him on the back. “And this is Richard Sullivan. He’s a head instructor here at the academy and is responsible for the FBI’s R&D labs developing electronic devices.”
“Rick? This is surprise!” Yoni exclaimed. “How many years has it been since we did that course together?”
“Hi, Yoni! You haven’t changed a bit!” Rick responded with a smile. “I had no idea you were in San Francisco.”
Yoni and Rick embraced and began a nostalgic duet of how they met at a special commando course.
Deputy Director Pearce didn’t allow the nostalgic outburst to go on for too long. “We have a long day ahead, so I suggest we get started! First, we’ll hear from our Israeli colleagues. Yoni—may I call you that? Are you ready to update us?”
“We don’t have anything exciting to tell you,” Yoni answered. “We know that Dr. Avni was briefed by the company’s security officer, as promised, and he’s aware of the threat hanging over his head. All the company’s information security protocols have been updated. Gideon Ben-Ari has not met with Ryan Davis for two weeks now.”
“Thank you, Yoni. Sometimes no news is good news,” Pearce stated. “I see that most of the activity was in areas we’re responsible for. John, could you please update us?”
“Okay, Al,” O’Connor replied, “I’ll try to be brief. We’ve exposed a connection between Ryan Davis and the Iranian Revolutionary Guards.”
The room fell as silent as a morgue. Yoni and Hannan looked at each other.
“We installed listening devices on his phones at home and at his office. We also checked the immigration office for data on Davis and found that his original name is Rustam Davidian, which is Persian, and his family emigrated from Bahrain. We tapped his calls for a week without discovering anything, and we almost gave up. Suddenly, a torrent of calls came in for Ryan at home. They talked in code, so we had to involve our communications department. It took us a few days to understand what they were saying. The main issue was pressure that a general, a senior Revolutionary Guards official, was putting on them to get moving on what they called ‘the sacred cause.’ We’re certain that a man by the name of Farid Madhani is Ryan’s, or should I say, Rustam’s contact. Madhani immigrated to the States many years ago and received citizenship after completing his master’s in electronic engineering at Stanford. The Revolutionary Guards recruited him a few years ago and helped him advance professionally. The apartment on Grant Avenue is their hideout. We found the apartment owner who told us that they paid the rent in cash. The tenant is a businessperson of Iranian origin, Arash Jafari. He received citizenship ten years ago, and he has a retail business in the Bay Area, in Redwood City. We have recordings of two meetings he held with Ryan in the apartment, which we’ve given to the labs here. They didn’t use the phone at the apartment even once. They know what they’re doing.”
“This is very important information,” Pearce said, praising him. “Can I assume that you’re continuing to monitor them to identify other people involved?”
“Yes, of course,” O’Connor confirmed. “We already know from deciphering the previous recordings that there are other people involved. We received an initial report from the labs that Rick has made available to us. I suggest, Al, that Rick provide us with further information after analyzing all the recordings.”
Everyone looked at Rick Sullivan in anticipation. Yoni was still in awe of his friend’s meteoric career.
“In his calls with Ryan Davis, Madhani complained about how slowly they were progressing in their connection with Dr. Ben-Ari. Madhani sounded like he was under great stress, probably due to the pressure that the general has been subjecting him to. We
haven’t deciphered the general’s name yet. The company in New York—Communication Technologies—is owned by Iranians, but it has an excellent cover story that was hard to crack.”
“Rick,” Yoni said, unable to hold back any longer, “have you learned anything about what’s happening with Nurit Avni?”
“Not anything of significance, Yoni” Rick said quickly. “She spoke to Dr. Ben-Ari twice and to someone she calls Francois three times. She didn’t talk at all to her husband, Dr. Avni.”
“And what about threatening calls?” Pearce asked. “Have you got anything?”
“Possibly,” Sullivan said. “There may have been two attempts to call the apartment in Berkeley while Nurit wasn’t home. No messages were left, but we managed to track the number of both calls.”
“And?” Pearce asked.
“Both calls were made from a number in the Los Altos area, in the southern part of the Silicon Valley. Further investigation revealed that the number belongs to Cisco Electronics.”
“Thanks, Rick,” Pearce said. “John, continue surveillance, and Rick’s labs will help you. We still have a long way to go before the picture becomes clear, so we can’t slow down.” He looked at everyone’s faces. “Gerald, take good care at the institute. The academic research regime sometimes has breaches in security.”
Deutsch bowed his head and didn’t respond.
29.
The lobby of the Faculty of Music building was buzzing with chatter, cries of joy, and slaps on the back. The audience continued to flow in for the final concert of the campus orchestra’s season, which had become a tradition.
Suzy stood with her parents, watching Gideon approach them. He looked elegant in his dark suit and bow tie. She remembered with longing the concerts he’d played in as a student. We were so close then, so young and happy. What happened to us? What drove us apart?
