“What do I need him for?” Noni cried out
“For security issues. Don’t you need more security when you’re engaging with demonstrators?”
“But I’m in charge of security here, right?” Noni fell into the trap.
“Exactly.” Almog found it hard to hide his smile. “That’s why you need a deputy who knows the field. You need a backup when the atmosphere heats up; he’ll cover your ass.
“So, just to sum up, I expect you to work on this daily, to get the team well-trained, to facilitate better communication between the members, to recruit any additional forces who can help us, to act effectively to neutralize all the antagonistic forces, and to advance our common mission. Is that clear?”
Shoshi stared at the speakers, her eyes damp and new beads of sweat appearing over her round face. My mother would have loved her. She blinked from time to time, licking her lips with excitement and looking from Noni’s face to Almog’s and back, blurting out suddenly, as a total non sequitur, “We get a lot of phone calls.”
“Sorry?” Almog asked with a forgiving smile
“Lots of them. Just a lot of phone calls to the consulate”
“What kind of calls exactly?”
“Mostly aggressive, people attacking. A lot of threats.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, hold on,” said Almog. Shoshi paused, staring at him, startled and blushing.
“Can someone tell me why this is the first time I’m hearing about this?” He looked at Noni.
Noni was on the defensive again. “Once a month, we issue a ‘mood and sentiment’ report, and the consul general gets a copy. Since you’ve only been here for one week, we haven’t yet issued a report.”
“So the last report was no more than three weeks before the consul general arrived?” He enjoyed torturing Noni, speaking about himself in the third person.
“Something like that.”
“Fine,” said Almog. “We’ll all sit here until we see the last report. Share it with everyone. It’s fundamental to our work here, understanding the public mood three weeks before I arrived.”
“I cannot do it now. It would take too much time.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s still at the printers. It’s not ready for publication and distribution.”
Almog gave up with a small grimace of despair and went back to Shoshi. “Can you elaborate on this. What kind of calls?”
She took a deep breath. “We get lots and lots of calls. A lot of people now talk about the consul general being a war criminal.” People around the room looked in all directions with embarrassment, but Shoshi continued enthusiastically, “You know, there are also Arabs, and all kinds of crazy Americans, that’s pretty normal here, but they use the term ‘war criminal’ now much more often.”
“A war criminal? Based on what?” asked Almog, without displaying any emotion.
“I don’t know exactly, because I don’t always understand their English. Sometimes I pass the call on to Sharon.”
Sharon is trying to correct the record. “There’s a steady stream of phone calls to the consulate. If you analyzed them, I think it’s about half and half, support versus criticism. But you have to remember that people who support us do not usually hurry to call, while people with criticism rush to make themselves heard.”
Almog nodded. “Fine, but what about the war criminal business?”
Sharon continued, “That’s quite rare, one call out of ten. Remember that one madman can call thirty times a day. We usually recognize the voice and the style.”
“And how do you respond? “
“There are position papers that we receive from Israel that clarify the main points. For people who have more involved claims and stories, I always suggest they write a letter or send a fax, and I promise to send an answer.”
“And you do that?”
“Oh yes. Mickey does a lot of it.” She looked at me, expecting help.
“Sometimes Noni signs the letters, and sometimes he even writes them himself. I am not really on top of that matter. All in all, we respond.”
“Any outstanding cases that are worth our attention?”
“Well,” Shoshi interjected again. “We get calls now about Jay’s murder. They love to call and say that you’ll be the next to die.”
“What?!” Almog sputtered.
“You’ll be the next to die. That’s what they say.” She repeated the phrase from her corner, like a broken record.
13.
“We reported it to the police,” Noni announced without being asked. It was the first time since the meeting began that Almog had been rendered speechless.
It took him a long while to recover. “Any reason that I was not informed?” He turned to Hebrew now, no longer trying to hide his rage.
“I thought the police had been in touch with you too.”
“You were wrong.” Almog groaned in despair.
“We did not want to worry you.”
“We? Who’s ‘we’?”
“Can someone turn on the AC?” Dorothy asked in Hebrew to our surprise. The room was hot and stuffy.
“When I say ‘we,’ I mean the team,” Noni replied. “I’ll turn on the air conditioning, but if every meeting of ours from now on is going to be like this one, we’re in big trouble.”
“And what did the police say after you reported these threats to them?”
“They will add people to the cordon guarding us.”
“This is bad,” said Almog as he pondered this. “Why did you report it to them?”
“Well…” Noni stretched out in his chair with a little pride. “I’m the contact person with the locals. It’s part of my job to report threats and incidents to them.”
“Well, I want Mickey to replace you as the contact man,” Almog decisively and unexpectedly proclaimed, succeeding in surprising me as well. Who needed a headache like that?
Noni shrank back in his seat. He breathed heavily and tried to get his voice back. “But Mickey is involved in Jay’s case—”
“Bullshit!” Almog cut him off sharply.
Noni still did not understand that the matter was closed. “But that’s my job—”
“All we want…” Almog replied, adopting a fatherly tone. “Is just to make things easier for you. You have to concentrate on the major things, not on minor matters like police investigations—”
“But—”
“Let’s examine these distressing calls to the consulate. Sharon?”
“Well.” Sharon was doodling little diamonds on her paper again. “Your military service in the Occupied Territories, all kinds of operations you’ve led. It’s my understanding that the Houston Chronicle has asked to come over several times and interview you about your history.”
“And how come I didn’t know that?”
“I’m sorry, I passed it on to Noni.” Teflon Sharon always evaded accountability.
“To Noni? Well, Noni understands already what I require of him. People, we will conclude the meeting at this point…
“Over the next week, I want to receive a report from each and every person here, with an organizational and action plan. At least once a day, each of you must meet with a local, an opinion-leader, a decision-maker. Start with those demonstrators on the street. Any questions?”
Without waiting for a reply, he summed up, “Okay, thanks for your time. Get to work. Sharon, you stay here.”
Sharon left the consul general’s office ten minutes later and began calling various editors at the local newspapers, to make sure that the photograph and biography of Almog sent to them a week ago would be published in a prominent spot in the next edition, lest the arrival of such an illustrious personage go unnoticed. She asked us to keep our distance, as she was out of breath and one of her lungs hasn’t been functional for a while.
Outside the conference room, Noni whispered furiously to Shoshi, “You should not have brought up all this stuff about phone calls. You tell me: what is it good for?”
“But really, Noni, it’s very important,” I heard her reply. “Don’t you understand what he wants to achieve? He wants to create true dialogue with the local population here!”
“He is the one to lead the herds of buffalo,” announced Dorothy, loud and proud. “The air is thick with his authority. Smell that: true leadership.”
Shoshi was leaving the consular section, a huge bag on her shoulder, on her way to the Olympia Fitness Center.
“It ends here!” she announced. “With all due respect to the new consul general, I also have commitments that I have to honor!” She left dramatically — short, squat, and energetic.
I decided to go into Almog’s office to see if he needed me. If not, I’d have time to go to the airport to take care of the diplomatic mail.
“‘With all due respect to the consul general...’” He mimicked Shoshi’s shrill voice.
I said nothing.
He added, “I might have been angry, but not at that lady. You can see right away that all she needs is some love and attention.” He put his cowboy boots on the corner of the desk, looking at them with pleasure.
“Buffalo Boots,” I said.
“Exactly. Six hundred fifty dollars, and worth every penny of it. I do not believe in imitations.”
I sat down. “He means well. Noni.”
“The ones who mean well are the most dangerous. What’s the story with these brand-new threats? How come I didn’t know about any of that?”
“Most of it is garbage. Any idiot can pick up the phone and make threats. It would be a mistake on our part to make a big deal out of it.”
Almog took his feet off the table. “Any progress in the investigation of Jay’s murder?”
“Nothing much yet. We know he was shot at point-blank range with a Beretta .22 with a silencer. The perp was a short, squat, mincing joker who passed a few feet from me, and he shot Jay even before I could say anything. There had been a few threats before that, but every police commander has stories like that. Stolen suitcases, fights with the baggage-handlers, smuggling — nothing that ought to end in murder.”
“Someone told me he had a connection to us,” Almog said casually, but there’s no such thing as “someone.” He didn’t want to tell me who was filling in the picture for him. I had no idea what or how much he knew.
“Noni checked our guns here and found nothing.”
“I know, I told him to do that. He was not supposed to talk about it.”
“I didn’t hear it from him, but from the cops. They’re tapping our phones, and they’re not even trying to hide it.”
Almog sank into a long moment of contemplation, scratching his arms fiercely. “The locals still don’t bother me. They are in the dark, just like we are. But Noni clearly was talking to someone about checking our guns on that phone call. I cannot trust him. I’m hoping there are no other leaks or moles.” When I stayed silent, he added, “Anyway, Jay is the key.”
“He was my friend.”
“Yet you didn’t know about his relationship with us?”
“Other than with me? Whoever told you he had a connection to us must know.”
“Yeah, but nothing that would lead to murder. All these McFlahertys — you’ve got to stay one step ahead of them. I need to know if there are serious threats to me. No joker is going to finish me off.”
14.
The following morning dawned with a haze that made it hard to breathe: A hurricane had hit Miami, the Storm of the Century apparently, and somehow this drained the air from Texas and left an impenetrable yellow miasma that hung in the air, thick like soup.
“Hey, wild man, how are ya?” It was my brother Dubi on the line. He usually called once a year.
“Surviving.” I smiled from ear to ear. I loved the guy. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”
“What, have you forgotten already?” He started singing, “Happy birthday to you…”
“No, no, we cannot afford the royalties for that.”
“Okay, okay, but I didn’t know if you’d make it, now that you’re throwing yourself into the path of every bullet at the Houston airport.”
“So the rumors made it all the way back home,” I said.
“Are they rumors or not? What part of it is true?”
“Not much. Somebody was shot at the airport, while I was standing next to him.”
“Someone close to you?”
“Not really.”
“Listen, wild man,” his voice became hard. “You haven’t tried to bullshit me for twenty-eight years now, so why start now?”
“Okay, okay,” I conceded. “There’s one thing that’s a bit of sticky situation. I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“Then don’t get involved. Definitely don’t dare get hurt, I still need you.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but c’mon, you don’t really need me.”
“Of course I do.”
“What for?”
“Markovsky Pencils, for one.” He was appealing to that old painful family business.
“Dubchik,” I said. “I really love you, and you know that, so please spare me the Markovsky Pencils sob story. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Noni came in with a fighting spirit and convened a small team meeting. He welcomed us with unexpected and uncharacteristic politeness, wearing orange shoes and a faded blue suit from a Sears end-of-season sale, his knees bouncing nervously under the table.
“Well, you all heard the consul general,” he began, rapid-fire. “The consulate cannot tolerate a danger such as the permanent demonstration outside. I have no intention of engaging in extended debate; instead, we ought to invite a delegation of these people into the consulate, so we can have it out, once and for all, and convince them to back down. That’s it. I don’t want to drag this out, so unless anyone has something important to say…”
Sharon smiled at him encouragingly. “The weather today will disperse any demonstration. I myself had a hard time breathing outside.”
“Well, you’re not exactly a perfect specimen,” I objected. When I had Noni’s attention, I asked him, “This conversation you intend to have, do you have any idea what you’re going to say?”
“Absolutely, it’s all very clear. And what I want you to do is to go down and invite the three of them to accompany you back to the consulate. If you don’t think it’s safe enough, take some security guards with you.” He was no good when he was unsure of himself, but even worse when he imagined himself to be playing the hero.
“Are you sure that there’s no problem bringing them in?” I asked. “Maybe they have some surprises in store for us.”
“I want them to go through the usual security procedures that visitors are subjected to. If you need a body search, there’ll be a body search.” Noni tried to hide a smile of satisfaction at his new determination.
I went downstairs, wondering how much Noni would be prepared to fight. It was late morning, hazy and sticky. Where had all these people come from? The three officers, two uniformed police, and one plainclothes federal agent, were in their regular positions; but now there were over twenty demonstrators carrying signs that read: Baby-killer! and Free Palestine! One of the demonstrators tried to approach me and hand me a leaflet titled: JudeoNazi!
“I am the information officer for the Israeli consulate!” I declared. “Who’s in charge here?”
The leafleteer was unimpressed. “That lady over there, Sarah.” He pointed at the white-haired woman. We had already spoken once.
I had no problem inviting her and some of her friends inside. “Oh, lookee here.” Sarah laughed in a high, artificial tone. She was smeared with a thi
ck layer of makeup that stood well in the terrible humidity, and I wonder what she did in her real life. How did she have time to come here every day to demonstrate? “The State of Israel recognizes us now. Well, isn’t that something?” She was trying to stall. The demonstrators stopped marching in their circle and looked at us with curiosity. I think most of them would have liked to rest in a cooler place.
“If you’re not prepared to speak with the consul, that’s your business, but let it be clear that you have been invited.”
I was dying to end this conversation, which had not even started yet. There was a hum coming from the demonstrators. Sarah was looking around, nervous and confused.
“The State of Israel has lost its soul,” she instinctively bombarded me. “The State of Israel has become a Nazi state. I do not think we need to talk to the State of Israel.”
However, there was a murmur among the rest of the demonstrators. One protestor shouted, “We cannot boycott the State of Israel.”
Someone else joined in, “The country cannot be blamed for its government.”
I think these kinds of demonstrations have a very fragile structure. So much for herd mentality.
What a strange group it was! My smiling Latina was still here, now in tight white jeans and a red silk blouse that flattered her, despite the crescents of perspiration at her armpits. She said, “We shouldn’t refuse such an invitation. It’s an opportunity not to be denied.”
I was in love with her, and there was a bond of understanding connecting me to this woman with her fiery gaze. I knew the look in her eyes.
Sarah scrunched up her eyebrows. “Okay, very well. We have nothing to argue about down here. Let’s go upstairs. You and you, you’re with me.” She pointed to the Latina and the man I’d seen with them the first time. “So when do we have the privilege of meeting the representatives of the State of Israel?” she asked me sarcastically,
The Consulate Conspiracy Page 7
