“We’re not done already?”
“I’m not done yet.”
“Well, I’m not done either. Do you know anyone who knows all the answers?” she whispered hoarsely, and there was laughter in her black eyes when she saw I was already trapped. “Only liars pretend to know all the answers.” She finished the last words as she was already leaning over me. I was lying on my back on the thick rug, and she was trying to rip off my clothes. Angela kept her thong on and responded to my movements like a well-tuned engine, with grateful caresses, adjusting herself to my rhythm. I warmed up relatively quickly. So did she, like a doll, but when she got closer she began to groan loudly. At the same time, I was surprised to hear the dogs whimpering in a faraway room. When she screamed loudly in the final stages, she was joined by a chorus of barks from somewhere.
“Mi amor!” she said in Spanish and turned over.
“The dogs are angry?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“No. they are jealous.”
“Of you?” I’m a bit disgusted.
“No, stupid. Of you.”
Once we finished, she hurried to the adjacent bathroom. Coming back, she asked me again to help her zip up the dress.
“Will you come back this weekend?”
“What for?”
“To pick up where we left off.”
“You mean our talk?”
“Our talk, our play.” She laughed. “You have a problem with older women?”
“I don’t think so. But I’ve got a problem with you. You look like someone who walks out on the roof and refuses to take someone’s hand when they try to help you.”
“I’m a big girl. I can help myself.”
I got stuck with the zipper for a moment, but in the end I managed to close the dress to her full satisfaction. She put on her high heels, then rose to her full height and said, “I have a board meeting at eight o’clock. Terrible hour, but we’ll get over it. Maybe before that we’ll go shopping. Okay with you?”
Angela did not wait for an answer. She knew exactly what she wanted, and that’s what she did. Her acquaintance with Jay seemed to be real, but you couldn’t say that she mourned for too long.
The twelve million undoubtedly endangered her, but the risk obviously was not overpowering, or she would have already done something with it. How did she get this “barium money” anyway? What kind of illicit activity had she become entangled in? If this money marked her, then some unsavory characters would eventually catch up to her. If she wasn’t careful, she might be found one day floating in Buffalo Bayou. I thought that she wasn’t nearly as strong and independent as she liked to portray herself. If she’d really had some insurance, she wouldn’t have been trying so hard to give the money away.
As a lay, she was an eight plus, a good grade but not enough to start working on a relationship with her. If she thought that her money would be enough to keep me around like one of her lapdogs, she was in for a surprise.
“No,” I said. “It’s not okay. I’m not interested in your board meeting. I’m going now.”
“You’re what?” Shocked, she moved closer to me.
“I’m not doing anything with you, unless you finish telling me the story about Jay.”
“No, you’re doing everything with me,” she purred as she approached me again, as close as she could. She was right; I was inclined to follow my friend Jacob, who was sending out clear signals of interest. She peeled off her dress, getting out of it much more quickly than she got into it. The dogs started up again, from whimpering to scratching to howling. We even heard a crash from whatever door they were behind, but we ignored it.
“Whoever taught you did a good job,” Angela said indulgently. “Usually it’s the first time that sets the pace.”
“But it’s always good to learn new things,” I suggested with a smile, thinking back fourteen years and seven thousand miles. What did she know about my first time?
Memories of the military academy always cheered me up. I learned a lot in that boarding school. Sex included, but no great technique or sophistication.
Her name was Yvonne, and she came from the poor neighborhood of Shaviv in Herzliya to work at the kitchen where food was prepared for the military academy. She was a cook’s assistant, as part of a training program for high school dropouts, or something like that. In the evenings, right after the last meal, she would wait for me behind the kitchen. She pulled off her pants, got down shyly on her hand and knees and said timidly, “Come on, come on.”
I was fourteen and found it fascinating. Sometimes, if we did not have evening practice, and I could stay a bit longer, she would undress completely, lie down on the sacks of potatoes and wait patiently. Always when I started, she would whisper like a mantra, “Je t’aime, je t’aime.”
So Angela was completely wrong about the value of my first experience. But when the romance with Yvonne was over, I moved on to her sister, Michelle, and stayed with her for the better part of a decade, with almost no breaks. It lasted until a year ago, when my mother passed away, after a few years of not exchanging a single word with me. I felt that it was time to me to go on alone — not even with my faithful Michelle, who cried for many days and nights. I reached a compromise with Angela: I agreed to stay and she gave up her board meeting.
I woke up at first light, at five in the morning. I was careful not to wake up Angela. The door opened with no need for special codes, and only one dog barked at me. There was a long scratch along the side of my Nova, but that was nothing compared to Angela’s Jaguar. Both of its doors on the driver’s side were completely demolished. The black and red pickup was gone.
20.
When the working day was over, I got into the elevator together with Almog. I usually let him go down with Noni or Saar, sharing his latest reflections and daily insights. I was in a hurry to get home and read the stultifying and annoying Research Methods II material, one my least favorite courses. After that, between eleven at night and one in the morning, I would return to my beloved World War II aircraft. For too many days I had neglected the B-24.
However Almog was holding the door for me, so I had no choice but to get in. He pressed the button for the parking lot.
“You’re not getting out on street level anymore,” I said.
“It’s the security procedures,” he said angrily. “I would love to confront the demonstrators. We just can’t let it go on like that.”
“No,” I said.
“This bloody demonstrations are destroying my health,” he went on. “How do they have this patience for that? What is it really about? The Palestinians? Who cares about the Palestinians here in Houston? How come all these people have time to get up every morning and stand in front of the consulate? Don’t they have work?”
“At least some of them have money.”
“That’s true,” he smiled crookedly, as we arrived at the parking lot and got out of the elevator. “I want you to be in touch with that Angela lady; she likes you. You need to separate her from the rest of them.”
“I met with her,” I said. “But I couldn’t figure out what’s behind the demonstration. She was very cooperative, but I’m not sure she’s out of the protest business.”
“Why?”
“She is looking for attention.”
“Haven’t you given her enough attention?” He went back to lecturing me. “You see. Hot Angela is another good example of our shortcomings. Remember what I said in the last meeting? If we had a good enough connection with the local supporters here, she wouldn’t have had to come demonstrate in order to get our attention.”
I had to get home, but I couldn’t resist answering. “You ought to consider that some of them really care and believe that if they press you hard enough, you will eventually send Jerusalem some report of dissatisfaction here with Israel policies.”
“Fuck that, I’m not rep
orting any of this to Jerusalem.” He was looking for his car keys. “It’s the front line here, just as our special units are combating Hamas terrorists beyond the Green Line back home.”
We said our goodbyes, and I started heading toward my car.
“What are you doing now?” he shouted at me. So much for my quiet evening. “I have two tickets to the VIP booth at the Summit. The Rockets are playing the Hawks. Are you interested?”
“No, thanks. I love basketball, but you know… priorities.”
“Like what?” He pressed me..
“Research Methods. I have a test in it. It’s important, you know.”
“You’re giving up basketball for that? The best in the Midwest!” Not even there for a month, he was already following the stats like a local.
I sighed. It was no use trying to explain further. I had to keep an eye on the guy. I gave up and joined him in his beloved Grand Marquis.
We stopped in front of the VIP entrance of the Summit, and as we got out, a valet rushed over to drive it off and park it.
“I’m not sure that’s in accordance with the security procedures,” I pointed out.
“Forget that bullshit,” Almog barked at me. “Don’t you start with me now.”
There was an usher in a fancy outfit, who escorted us to a special elevator and from there to the skybox level, extending out over the arena. Inside, we found the waitstaff, an older man and two young female assistants. It was an insanely luxurious two-story suite, the lower floor for viewing sporting events and the higher for other forms of entertainment. Carpeted in light green, with gleaming surfaces of nickel and glass. The temperature was meticulously controlled, and background music filled the suite — I recognized Doctor Zhivago. Two television sets broadcast the game, if you didn’t care to follow it by just looking through the giant windows to the arena floor.
“Look at the walls, the plates, the silverware,” he marveled. “This is living the high life. It’ll take us another fifty years until we reach their standard.” A waitress in a notional skirt and a tiny round apron put bottled soft drinks on the serving table next to us. Almog grabbed most of the cashews out of a fully stocked platter of refreshments. I ordered a screwdriver and scanned the sea of heads below us.
The Houston Rockets were playing the Atlanta Hawks. The hall below us was raucous, with cheerleaders in red-and-white costumes (both teams displaying those colors, in different proportions), banners, pennants, fans dressed and painted. There was a constant mix of shouts and music. The Atlanta Hawks cheerleaders were displaying their hips, their shoulders swaying like mechanical toys; the Houston Rockets cheerleaders were twisting athletically and riling up the home crowd. The seconds were counting down quickly, in big red digits.
“So you met with the lovely Angela. How did it go?” asked the consul general.
“It’s complicated,” I replied. “She kept talking about an Israeli named Bareket.”
“Shuki Bareket?” he immediately asked, without taking a second to think.
“That’s the name. You know him?”
“I know him.” He snorted. “His name was Bruchstein before. He lives here now. Just forget about him. It’s not serious.” It struck me as kind of unusual that Almog, who loved the smallest, most insignificant stories, was giving up on Angela and Shuki that easily.
“The way she talked about it, it’s very serious. She knew Jay Delanconia, the cop who was killed. Apparently he was a childhood friend or something. I gotta say, I’m not happy with her story about the donation.”
“And why is that?” He sounded serious and interested. Below, the game had finally begun, with the Hawks taking flight and the Rockets trailing behind them.
“Just a gut feeling. I think her story ought to be checked out. “
“Listen,” he interrupted me. “Don’t get out over your skis. Do you understand?”
“I think,” I replied uneasily. I’m an Israeli in Texas, what do I know about winter sports? “I just don’t understand why. There are some worrying signs.”
“It stinks to high heaven, this whole mess,” agreed Almog. “Someone in the community, and maybe in Israel as well, is trying to play dangerous games; but I don’t want the consulate to get involved in such things. Americans don’t have a sense of humor when it comes to breaking the law. Since Jay’s murder, they’ve been in a frenzy.” He leaned down to get a better look at the Hawks’ dribbling.
“So far, I haven’t noticed too much of a fuss.”
“Really? The FBI is involved,” he reflected quietly, as if everything was already clear to him. “They don’t waste time on simple murder cases; they only deal with federal crimes, matters of national security.”
“So you know what’s going on?” I was pretty sure he knew something.
“I have no idea.” He didn’t even blink. The Hawks were leading eight to six when a siren signaled that they had called a time-out. Both cheerleading groups charged onto the court again and began to jump around.
“If it’s really such a stinking mess, the consulate will inevitably be involved,” I argued. “If only for the reason that there are Israelis involved. Angela wants us to take the twelve million dollars as a donation to the Soldiers’ Relief Fund.”
He was silent for a moment, then exulted, “Wow, that’s great! Let’s go for it. Have you told anyone yet?”
“That’s a lot of money,” I pointed out. “A lot.”
“Have you reported it to anyone yet?” he repeats the question.
“I am positive Jay’s murder has something to do with it.”
“Don’t toy with me.” He was getting upset. “Have you reported it or not?”
“No.”
“This lawyer of hers keeps on bugging me,” he grumbled in a low voice. “I imagine he’s going to take a good cut of the money if he closes the deal. He will not divulge the source of the money, and it turns out that according to Texas law, there is no categorical obligation to disclose the sources of charitable contributions. No doubt the lady is under pressure to get rid of the money. It is a mitzvah to help her out. Especially since she used to demonstrate against us.”
“She could bring us down.”
“Bring us down?” He chuckled. “Everything is legal. Authorized. Strictly kosher. Trust me, she won’t bring me down that fast. According to the guidelines we received from the Ministry of Defense, we have to try hard to get donations to the SRF. If I succeed in bringing in twelve million dollars, believe me, it does a lot of good for everyone involved. First and foremost, it benefits the state and our boys and girls in uniform. I have my direct line to the Minister of Defense. He’ll know what to do.”
“And what about the Foreign Minister?”
“Are you kidding or what? Avi and I are brothers.” He was cheerful again. It wasn’t the first time that he’d flaunted his friendship with Peled. “True brothers,” he went on. “For him, twelve million dollars from Texas is a serious achievement for all of us. We’ll have it made. We have a special arrangement with the SRF.”
The Rockets scored twice, narrowing the gap. The Hawks led fourteen to thirteen, but one free throw by the Rockets tied it all up, leading the crowd to start to scream. It felt like the whole skybox was shaking.
“I have to check with Jerusalem about the proper procedure.” Almog emptied the olives from the refreshment platter, and the waiter came by to refill it. “The most important thing for the donor is the tax deduction, so that’s five million bucks they save. Then I go back to my friends in Israel to make sure it’s clean as a whistle, no muss, no fuss. It’s all clear and above-board. Don’t even think about it.”
There was a knock at the door of the suite. I had locked it when we came in and warned the waiter not to open it to anyone without my permission.
“Who is it?” I asked in English.
“Your loving sister.” It was
the voice of Saar, our security guy.
“Go home, bitch,” I said playfully. “Are you alone? Is everything okay?”
If Saar is under threat or duress, he has a safe word to use.
“I’m just fine,” came the answer, and I opened the door for him.
“How could you leave me like that at the consulate?” he complained.
“It’s just a game, nothing exciting,” Almog said dismissively.
“Security isn’t exciting either, but it’s my duty to escort you to events like this.” Technically, he was right.
At halftime, the Hawks lead fifty-five to forty-three. It didn’t stop the locals from celebrating.
I accompanied Almog outside the skybox to show him how the common people lived. Saar shadowed us. We moved from the special elevator through a few stairwells, finally reaching the wide passageways that thousands of people were jamming now, fighting for popcorn, sausages, and beer as if they hadn’t eaten all day.
“Do you feel like you’re among the people?” I asked. That had been his wish all along. “Well, it takes some time to get used to it.”
He was embarrassed. “I mean, it’s not too bad pushing and spilling beer and popcorn and all that, but I’m not used to it yet. Perhaps we’ll try again later. Let’s go back to the suite. To be honest, the ice cream with strawberries and the roast beef are more appealing.”
Saar apologized and asked us to wait for him for two minutes while he took a leak. We waited by the elevators.
“Are you going to report it?” I asked.
“About Angela and the donation?’
“No, about Bareket. He’s involved in something that could be serious.”
“I have nothing on him yet, so leave that to me.” I thought that he knew that I wasn’t yet prepared to rely on him.
A tall man with broad shoulders collided with Almog. Where the hell was Saar?
Almog started instinctively with Hebrew, “Pardon me.” Then immediately switched to English, “Excuse me.”
The Consulate Conspiracy Page 11
